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J/y ^oor mistress mas quite Mind. 


4 



“VIC” 


THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FOX-TERRIER. 



MARIE MORE MARSH. 



CHICAGO : 


F. J. SCHULTE & COMPANY, Publishers, 
^n'el 

298 Dearborn Street. 



Copyright, 1892, 

By FRANCIS J. SCHULTE. 
All rights reserved. 


TO MY 

YOUNG COUSINS, 

Rob, John and Marjorie, 

THIS BOOK 
IS AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED. 






VIC. { From a Photograph.) 








“VIC”: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

I. 

I WAS born in an empty room at the back 
of a saloon. Almost the first thing that 
I can distinctly recollect is the sharp pain of 
a knife cutting through my tail, and a man’s 
voice saying : 

“ Dere, now, dey bees docked in de most 
approved style. And say. Mack, I’ll take 
my pay for de job in drinks — see ? ” 

I did not have my eyes open then, and 
I could not see the man who spoke, but I 
shall always remember his harsh voice and 
the brutal laugh which he gave when I 
squealed out with the pain. 

We were a large family of pups, — seven 
in all, — and mother was very proud of us. 
Our master was kind, and he gave us fresh 


8 


bic'’: ^titobi0gra|jl)s. 


straw twice each day, and saw that we were 
well fed and comfortable; and, although I 
have since learned that it was his business to 
make brutes of men, I can vouch for the fact 
that he knew how to treat animals well. 

I remember when I first opened my eyes. 
The room in which we were looked very 
large, and I was afraid and hung close to 
mother until I had become quite used to it. 
Soon, however, I became very bold and 
would run about, even to the farthest corner; 
but the least strange sound would make me 
scamper back in a hurry, I can tell you. 

I was the least shy and timid, and the rest 
of the puppies followed in my lead. “Pooh,” 
I would say, “look at me!” And I would 
run boldly out into the room and bark in my 
shrill puppy voice ; and one by one the 
others would join me ; then we would run 
back to mother, pell-mell, as though we were 
frightened at the sound of our own voices. 

Once, in playing about among the lumber 


^ntobi 03 ra|il) 2 . 


9 


in the room, we upset a window-screen 
which had been placed on end against the 
wall. I never shall forget how terrified we 
were. We all hid under a box, fearing even 
to look out, and it was some time before we 
dared to run across to where mother was. 
Our hearts were beating at a frightful rate, 
and we rushed helter-skelter, without any 
idea except to get away from the thing which 
terrified us. Some of us ran into chairs and 
against the wall in our mad haste ; and 
mother laughed and called us foolish and 
timid ; and, although she explained there 
was nothing to be afraid of, we avoided that 
part of the room for several days. 

I was larger than the rest, and very strong 
for my age. Mother said that I was a won- 
derfully forward puppy, and she seemed to 
depend upon me more than upon the others. 
One of my brothers was a weak, puny little 
fellow. He was the smallest of all and the 
most easily frightened. He was my favorite, 


10 


^utobiograijljs* 


and I took almost as much care of him as 
mother did. When the others played too 
roughly, he used to run to me, for he could 
not stand it to be tumbled about like the rest. 
He did not grow fat and strong as the rest 
of us did, and master used to give him 
extra food, fearing that he did not get suffi- 
cient nourishment. 

One day our master came into the room, 
bringing some men with him. We looked very 
sleek and fat, — all except the one little fellow, 
— and master seemed proud to show us. 
We had become used to having men about 
by this time; so we were not shy, and we ran 
about under their feet and nipped at the bot- 
tom of master’s trouser-legs with our sharp 
little teeth. 

Master called the men “boys.” They 
were all large like master, and, except one, 
they had gray hair and were of middle age. 
This one had black hair and a black mustache 
and red cheeks ; his voice was very kind, and 


bic”: ^utobiogra|il)2i. 


11 


when he stooped down and said: '‘Come, 
little fellows,” we all ran to him, even sick, 
timid little brother, who had nestled close to 
mother until he spoke. 

The young man patted us and spoke 
kindly to us, and then he took me up and 
looked me over. “She’s the best of the 
whole lot,” he said ; and the other men 
crowded around him while he explained to 
them my good points. He said that my ears 
were set just right and that my jaw was 
strong and my shoulders and front legs were 
superb. Then he praised my feet, and said 
that I had a capital coat, and that he liked 
my marking better than that of the others. 

Then he set me down and said to my 
master : “ I’ll take this one. Mack, when 

she’s old enough to take away.” I noticed 
that when he said this, mother put her tail 
between her legs and slunk away behind a 
barrel ; but I did not understand what it all 
meant then, and, besides, I was so pleased at 


12 


bic’’: ^titobiograiil)^. 


being praised that I could think of little 
else. 

The men talked more about us then, and they 
all said that they liked the breed ; and one 
man, with a purple face and a white mus- 
tache, and bold, staring eyes, laughed and 
said to the young man : “How’d you come 
to pick the one with black markings, Jim? 
We thought you liked strawberry blondes.'' 
The men laughed at this, for, you see, we 
were all white, and I had black and tan mark- 
ings upon my head, while some of the rest 
were marked with orange or chestnut. 

The man whom they called Jim smiled a 
little, but he made no reply. He was lean- 
ing down to look at my sick brother, and I 
saw that his cheeks were redder than before. 
He took up the poor, thin little fellow, and 
held him very tenderly. 

Mack," said he, this pup needs a tonic. 
You ought to give him a little quinine and 


iron. 


bic’’: ^«tobiogra|jI)s. 


13 


''Yes/’ answered my master, " Fve been 
watching him. I’ll fix him up a dose that 
will set him up all right.” And then they 
all went out. 

After they left I went to look for mother. 
She was still hidden behind the barrel, and 
when we playfully jumped about and bit her 
legs, she hardly noticed us. We tried to get 
her to pay us some attention, but when she 
came out at last she went over to our corner 
and lay down, and was so sad and still that 
we were half afraid, and we were sobered in 
an instant. 

I lay down close beside her and licked her 
face and paws, and she drew a long, quiver- 
ing breath like a sigh, and laid her head across 
my neck. Then she told me that it meant 
that when I was a little older I would be 
taken away from her and sent out into the 
world. I only half understood what she told 
me, and I was sad more because I saw that 
she was grieved than from any feeling of my 


14 


bit’’: ^tttobiograpl)^. 


own, for it all seemed so far off and so 
vague. 

I asked mother what the men had meant 
when they spoke of our breed, and she said : 

Why, you silly little thing, didn’t you 
know that you were a Fox Terrier and one of 
the best-bred dogs in the country ? ” After 
that I felt very proud, and can you wonder 
that I held my head a little higher for know- 
ing that I was a thoroughbred ? 

My puny little brother did not gain in 
strength, and he shivered and whined all the 
time ; so soon our master brought some hot, 
dark stuff in a tumbler and made him drink 
it all. It was very strong and had an 
unpleasant smell, and mother said that it was 
whisky. 

The poor little fellow strangled and 
choked over it and cried because it burned 
his throat. I said that it was cruel of 
master, but mother said that he did not 
mean it unkindly, only he was so used to 




15 


seeing men gulp down the bitter stuff that 
it did not occur to him that it was strong 
medicine for a puppy. 

After master went away, brother moaned 
with pain and cried that he was burning 
inside. He rolled from side to side in his 
agony, while mother and I licked him and 
tried to soothe his pain. After a time he 
stopped crying and lay quite still. I was 
glad because I thought that he would soon 
be well; but mother shook her head. Soon 
he stretched out his little legs and grew very 
stiff and cold, and then mother said that he 
was dead. 

The rest of the puppies were frightened, 
and ran clnd huddled in a corner; but mother 
and I stayed near him, and I tried to warm 
his cold body by lying close to him. When 
master came back to find how the medicine 
was doing its work, he seemed surprised to 
find that my brother was dead. He carried 
him away then, and we never saw him again. 


16 


^utobiograpljg. 


My other brothers and sisters were still 
afraid, and they would only come and sniff 
about the straw where our brother had lain, 
then they would run and hide. It was only 
after master had brought fresh, new bedding 
that mother could coax them into our corner 
at all. All this seemed heartless to me, but 
mother told me that it was natural for ani- 
mals to fly from those of their kind which 
are diseased or dead, and that only a few can 
overcome this natural instinct of fear. 

Mother grieved over our brother s death, 
and grew thin and ill herself, but master did 
not try any of his own medicine upon her. 
He sent for a veterinary surgeon, a kind 
man, who understood her case exactly, and 
who gave her just the drugs which she 
needed, and she began to mend at once. 

One day the young man who mother said 
was to be my master came again to see me. 
He petted me and spoke gently to me, and 
I loved him from the first. Mother said that 


“bic”: ^tttobiograijl)^. 


17 


she felt better about my leaving her, since I 
was to live with him, for she could see that he 
was kind and would treat me well. He came 
quite frequently after this, and sometimes he 
brought his friends, that he might show me 
off to them. He seemed proud because I 
knew him and would run to him when he 
called my name ; for he had told master that 
I was to be called “Vic.” 

He brought a lady to see me once — a tall 
blonde lady with blue eyes and reddish hair, 
just the color of my sister s ears. The lady 
did not come in, but sat in a carriage a few 
doors off, and my new master carried me out 
to her. My master said that this lady was 
to be my mistress, and he whispered in my 
ear that I must love her very mucK, because 
he loved her better than his own life, and 
that in a few months he was to marry her, 
and then we three were to live together, and 
to be very, very happy. 

All this he whispered as he held me close 


18 


“bic”: ^xttobiograpl)^. 


up to his cheek on our way to the carriage. 
And I wagged my tail and licked his ear, 
which meant that I would try to do just what 
he wished. 

But when I saw her who was to be my 
mistress, I felt that, although she was very 
beautiful, yet, somehow, it would be hard to 
love her. I could see at once that she dis- 
liked dogs, for she said, when she saw us : 
“ Oh, Jim, how can you endure having that 
horrid beast so close to your face?’' 

When master held me up for her to see, she 
said that I was an ugly little brute, and that 
I looked for all the world like a guinea-pig. 
Master laughed at this, although it did not 
seem at all funny to me, and he said: “ Look 
at her tail. It’s docked, you know. I’m not 
just sure that I like it so, but fashion 
decrees it.” 

And the lady said: “Why, do you know, 
that’s the only thing that I like about the 
creature. That looks so stylish.” 


^ttt 0 bi 09 ra|il) 2 . 


19 


Then master stroked my head softly 
and said, I think that her eyes are her 
chief charm — they look so true.” 

When I told mother what the lady had 
said, she sighed, and said that she feared that 
my master would suffer through her. 

If I say but little about my brothers and 
sisters, it is not because I was not fond of 
them, but because there is little to tell that 
would be of interest here. We were a 
healthy, happy lot of pups, and we played, 
frolicked and slept after the manner of all 
pups the world over. Each had his own char- 
acteristics, and doubtless each could tell a 
story as varied and interesting as my own ; 
but alas ! never since the day I left them 
have I heard any news of one of them. 

It was a mild day when my new master 
came to take me away. I had heard my old 
master tell the bar-tender that we were now 
old enough to leave mother. The other 
pups had been sold, all except one, which 


20 


‘‘bk”: ^utobiograijljg. 


was to be left with mother, but none of the 
owners had sent for them yet, and we were 
still an unbroken family. 

I had hoped that I might be taken first, for 
it seemed that I could not bear to see the 
others go, one by one. One day I heard a 
voice call to the boy who ran errands about 
the place. “Go fetch Jim’s pup. You know 
which it is — the white one with black ears.” 
I knew then that my time had come. 

Mother hid herself again behind the bar- 
rel, and would not be coaxed out, and my 
own heart was very heavy. I trembled 
with excitement, and I ran and tried to 
crowd in beside mother ; but when I heard 
my master’s voice call out, “ No, Mack, 
never mind ; I’ll get her myself,” I turned 
and ran to him instead. 

He took me in his arms and patted me, 
and then he stooped down and stroked 
mother’s back, reaching behind the barrel 
to get at her. 




21 


'‘Poor little mother! it is hard to let 
them go, isn’t it?” he whispered, softly. 

I know that mother heard, for she turned 
and licked his hand, although she would 
not come out from the dark corner ; and, 
when she whined mournfully, I looked into 
my master s eyes, and saw that there were 
tears there. 

I had been too frightened to notice it 
before, but now I saw that my master was 
thin, and that his cheeks were no longer 
red, but pale, and that the happy, joyous 
light had gone from his eyes. 

He slipped me into the pocket of his 
great-coat, and gave mother another sym- 
pathetic pat, and then we went away from 
the big empty room forever. 


X 


11 . 


I T was in a large office that master fished 
me out of his pocket and set me, half 
dead with fright, down upon a desk. There 
were several men writing at other desks 
about the room, and they all looked up and 
greeted my master, and the most of them 
left their places and came to look at me. I 
was far too badly frightened to stand, and I 
sank down in a pitiful little heap. When the 
men went back to their work I mustered up 
courage to look at the man to whom- my 
master was talking in low tones. 

He was a young man with a kind, pleasant 
face and near-sighted gray eyes. His clothes 
were not fine like my master’s, but were 
worn and shiny at the seams. Although he 


22 


‘‘bic”: QVn ^utobiograpljg. 


23 


was not handsome like Jim, his was a good 
face, and one that you cOuld trust. 

As I looked from one face to the other and 
listened to the low hum of their voices, I be- 
gan to pay attention to what they were say- 
ing, and to my great surprise I learned that 
I was not to go home with Jim, after all, but 
that the pleasant-faced stranger was to be 
my master instead. 

I could not help a pang of regret, for I 
had loved Jim dearly from my first remem- 
brance, and this kind-looking, gray-eyed man 
could not take his place in my heart at once. 

Soon their conversation was ended. Well, 
old fellow, good-by. Take good care of 
Vic. ril run out and see how she gets on 
once in a while,” said Jim. Then he 
leaned down and gave me a little squeeze, 
and I licked his wrist, and that was our 
good-by, for I never saw Jim again. 

After Jim went out my master fixed a soft 
little nest for me in the waste-basket under 


24 


“bic"’: !3ln ^utobiograpljg. 


his desJc. Occasionally he reached his long, 
bony hand down and stroked my head as he 
wrote ; and after a time I poked my nose 
between his fingers to show that I appre- 
ciated his friendliness. 

Then I fell into a doze from weariness, and 
I slept for some time, when I was awakened 
by the words, ‘'Jim’s looking mighty bad.” 
My master responded : “ Yes, he’s awfully cut 
up. She threw him over at the last minute, 
you know.” “ So she did the others. He’ll 
get over it,” said the other voice ; but mas- 
ter replied: “I don’t know. Jim isn’t like 
the most of men. That sort of thing means 
more to him.” Then I knew that they were 
talking of the beautiful blonde lady, and I 
understood why I was to have another 
master. 

It was evident that I was expected at my 
new home, for when my master unlocked the 
lower hall door of the flat where he lived, a 
sweet voice called down: “Did you bring 


"‘bic”: !3ln ^titobiogra^jljs. 


25 


it, dear ? ” And when master replied that he 
had “it” in his overcoat pocket, I knew that 
they were speaking of me. 

Master ran up-stairs, two steps at a time, 
and caught a liftle brown-haired woman in 
his arms with a kiss, saying: “Well, wifie, 
I have brought you something to keep you 
company all day.” Then he took me out 
of his pocket, and put me down on the 
hearth-rug, telling her not to pay me much 
attention until I got a little used to things, 
because I was very shy and timid. 

The little lady sat down beside me, and 
said : “ Poor little doggy, don’t be afraid,” 

in a soft, low voice, and I got up and went 
over to her and climbed into her lap, for I 
wished her to see that I really was not so 
timid as my master had thought. 

In a few days I was quite at home in my 
new quarters, and ran from room to room 
without fear. 

My mistress kept no servant, but did all 


26 


‘‘bic*’: '^utobioi9ropl)j;i. 


except the heavy work herself, and master 
used to help her when he came home at 
night. They were very happy, and used to 
sing at their work, and they laughed and 
joked a great deal about their poverty, as 
they called it. 

Although they were not very poor, I knew 
they were far from being rich, and they used 
to speak often of a debt, for the payment of 
which they were saving all that they could 
of masters salary. Master’s name was 
John, and my mistress was named Dorothy, 
but he called her Dolly. 

Sometimes, when she looked at his shabby 
coat or his threadbare trousers, Dolly would 
give a little sigh, and say: “Oh, my poor 
Cheap John!” And he would laugh and 
catch her up in his arms, and say that he 
didn’t mind being poor or shabby, only for 
her sake. And then they would kiss each 
other, and, somehow, I always loved them 
better than ever when they talked like that. 


bic”: ^utobiograpljjj* 


27 


I used to be very proud to go out with my 
mistress, and they all said that it was quite 
wonderful to see how quickly I learned to 
follow. But really I couldn’t help following 
Dolly, for she was so sweet and good that I 
liked to be near her all the time. She used 
to take me with her when she went to 
market and upon errands that were not far 
from home, and I kept close at her heels all 
of the time. I got so that I soon knew all 
the tradespeople about, and the butcher used 
to throw me a bone each morning in a very 
friendly way. 

One day I was trotting along behind my 
mistress, when she met a lady of her ac- 
quaintance and stopped to speak to her. 
They chatted for a long time, and I waited 
patiently for them to finish. The streets 
were somewhat crowded, and I got pushed 
about by the people who passed. Some- 
times I was jostled in one direction and 
sometimes in another, until at last I found 


2 $ 


‘‘bic’’: ^ut0biogrtt|ji)s. 


myself at a corner. Looking up the street, I 
saw a strange animal with glaring green 
eyes, and fur that stood erect on his back, 
advancing toward me. Of course I knew 
that it was a cat, for I had seen cats from 
the windows ; but I had never been near to 
one before, and I felt some curiosity to see 
what they were really like. So I ventured a 
step nearer, when, p-s-s-s-t ! the thing sprang 
at me. 

I dodged just in time, and the creature 
went over my head ; but I turned in a flash, 
and before he had time to spring again I had 
him by the back of the neck. He twisted him- 
self about and buried his fore-claws in my 
head, while with his hind-claws he kicked and 
scratched me. We rolled over and over, bit- 
ing and scratching each other wherever we 
could, until I was forced to let go for an instant 
for breath. The smart of my wounds filled 
me with fresh zeal, and in an instant I was at 
him again and caught him this time squarely 


“bir"’: ^utobiogra|j|)s. 


29 


on the back. I shook him furiously until he 
ceased to struggle and dropped limp from 
my jaws. Then a voice yelled out, “Bully 
for de tarrier ! Ain’t she gamey, dough ? 
Youse catch her an’ hold ’er while I gets 
anoder cat.” I only stopped long enough to 
discover two small boys clambering over the 
high board fence, back of the corner grocery, 
and then I ran as fast as my legs could carry 
me, I knew not whither. 

My only object was to get away from the 
boys ; so I ran around a corner and into an 
alley, then across a vacant lot and into 
another street before I realized that one eye 
was swollen shut and that my face and ears 
were scratched and bleeding ; then — worse 
than all — I knew that I was lost. 

One foot had been bitten and was too sore 
to step upon, and I was wet and dirty from 
rolling in the mud. When I limped up to a 
puddle of water to drink, I was sickened at 
the reflection which met my eyes, and I 


30 


bic’’: ^utobiograijl)^. 


doubted if my mistress would know me if 
she should see me. 

Tired and lame, I wandered about, up one 
street and down another, following some of 
the passers-by and running from others, until 
it was quite dusk ; then I sank, exhausted, 
upon the sidewalk, believing that I must die 
there. 



III. 

I T must have been in an unfrequented street 
that I dropped down, for I lay for some 
time without seeing a person pass ; then I 
heard a slow, ambling tread, and I tried to 
drag myself out of the way of an old woman 
with a huge milk-can in her hand. I could not 
stir, but I cried out with pain from the effort 
which I made, and the woman stopped and 
set her can down and carefully lifted me up. 
“ It’ll kape the bye company,” she said, half- 
aloud, as she took up the can and trudged 
on. 

It was nice and warm under her shawl, and 

she held me very tenderly ; but I could feel 

that her hands were hard and knotted, not 

soft and smooth like Dolly’s. 

When she came to a little shanty in an 

unpaved street she stopped, and set the can 
31 


32 


“bic"’: ^mobio5ira|jl)2. 


down once more while she fumbled at the 
door. There was a noise within of a wooden 
bar moving, and a shrill little voice piped out, 
''The duress unlocked. Youse can walk in.” 
And in we went. 

It was a tiny little room which we entered, 
and there was another smaller one off from 
that, and a loft up above. There was not 
much furniture ; a cupboard, a stove, a table, 
two chairs, and a narrow little cot in the front 
room, and a bed in the little room beyond. 
This much I saw with one glance, and then 
my whole attention was turned to the cot, for 
there, bolstered by pillows and rolled-up 
quilts, lay a little lad of about twelve years of 
age. His white little face was drawn with 
pain, and there was an ugly lump between 
his shoulders. 

Overhead, and within reach of his hand, 
there hung from the ceiling a rope, which 
was attached to a clever device for raising* 

o 

and lowering a wooden bar which fastened 


“bic"’: ^ntobi0gra|]l)ji. 


33 


the outer door at the other side of the room. 
It was the rattling of this bar which we had 
heard when he bade us enter. 

See, Dinny, love, the poor sufferin’ baste 
Fve brought to yez this time. He sat mopin’ 
on the sidewalk, an’ I most desthroyed him 
wid my big fate, an’ him niver complainin’ a 
wurrud. So I fetched him along wid me, an’ 
youse can docther him up a bit.” 

Oh, Granny, see the leg of him ! He 
bees terrible hurted ; mebby the leg do be 
broke.” Then, with great care, the boy felt of 
my lame leg, discovering with joy that the 
injury was not so serious as he had feared. 
“ Wese will have him around in no time. 
Granny; an’ let’s call him Toby,” he piped 
out ; and the old woman laughed and said 
that would be a fine name. 

Dinny washed my bruises with warm 
water, and his grandmother poured out a 
cup of milk and held it while I drank ; then 


34 


^utobiograpl)^. 


she laid me down on a pile of rags, and I 
slept until the next morning. 

When I awoke I could not think, for a 
moment, where I was, but when I remem- 
bered the events of the day before, I knew, 
and I felt ashamed and sorry. I wondered 
if I ever should see my dear master and 
mistress again. I knew that I did not 
deserve to. 

My new friends were very kind to me. 
During the day the old woman used to go 
out to scrub or clean house, and each morn- 
ing and evening she carried milk to her 
customers. While she was gone I stayed 
with the sick boy. Dinny was very fond of 
me, and he taught me to sit up and to roll 
over, and many other tricks which are really 
very easily done when one knows how ; but 
at first I could not understand what he 
wished me to do, for nobody had ever made 
me do anything like that before. 

He was very patient with me, though, and 


^ntobiograpIjK. 


35 


never scolded or struck me when I did the 
wrong thing ; and soon I could walk about 
upon my hind feet, “quite as proud as a 
policeman,” as Granny said. 

One day a doctor came to see Dinny. 
He was a stranger, but a friend of his had 
told him about the little lad, and he came to 
see if there was not some way of making 
him more comfortable. He examined the 
poor crooked shoulders and listened to the 
fluttering little heart, and then he said that 
while he could not promise to make Dinny 
straight and tall, he could, by sending him to 
a hospital for a time, make him so well and 
strong that he could do something to help 
himself and not be a burden upon his grand- 
mother. And when the doctor told him this 
the boy cried from pure joy. 

Upon the very day of Dinny’s wonderful 
good news a happy thing happened to me, 
for as I stood at the window looking out I 
saw my mistress pass the house. I 


36 


^ttt 0 bi 09 ra|jl) 2 . 


scratched at the window and barked so 
loudly that she looked up and recognized 
me at once. She ran up the walk and 
knocked, and Dinny pulled up the bar and 
opened the door ; but she caught me up in 
her arms and gave me a hug before she 
came into the house at all. 

She explained her errand, and Dinny told 
her how his grandmother had found me, half- 
dead, in the street, and had brought me 
home under her shawl. Then my mistress 
told Dinny how much she had missed me, 
and what a relief it was to find me safe ; for 
she had feared that I had met with rough 
usage somewhere. And all this time I stood 
with my ears and tail drooping, because I 
remembered how foolishly I had acted. But 
my mistress spoke no word of blame ; and 
now that I think of it, I don’t believe that 
she ever knew a thing about that cat, for 
there was nobody looking at us except the 
two small boys behind the fence. 


/ 


bic’': ^ntobiograpljs. 


37 


And in a few moments Dinny told my mis- 
tress of his good news, for the doctor had 
just gone, and his heart was full. And, 
laughing and crying all at once, he told her, 
in his shrill little voice, how he was going to 
be strong and well pretty soon, and then he 
would go out to work while his grandmother 
would have nothing to do but stay at home 
and keep house for him. My mistress lis- 
tened earnestly to the little lad’s story, and 
she laughed with him for the joy of it; but 
even as she smiled, I saw that there were 
tears in her beautiful eyes, and when we 
went away she kissed Dinny’s forehead and 
then held me up so that he might give me a 
farewell squeeze. 

I felt not a little sad at the thought of 
leaving Dinny and his grandmother, for they 
had become dear to me ; but it was hard to 
be called Toby, and to be always spoken of 
as ''him,” and I was glad to hear my own 
name again. 


38 




Dolly carried me in her arms all the way 
home, although I had got to be quite a 
large dog by that time, and was no small 
load for her ; but she seemed afraid to trust 
me to run along beside her, after my last 
experience. 

It was nearly dark when we got home, but 
I ran all through the rooms before the gas was 
lit, sniffing about the familiar chairs and rugs, 
and even remembering to hunt up a beautiful 
smooth, clean bone which I had hidden 
weeks before behind the cushions of the 
lounge. I dug it out while Dolly was busy 
getting supper, and she gave a little squeal 
of surprise when I carried it out into the 
kitchen to gnaw. 

Before it was time for master to come 
Dolly shut me in a closet, that he might not 
see me at first, for she wanted to surprise 
him. But when he came and opened the 
closet door to get his slippers I surprised 




39 


them both, for I walked out on my hind feet, 
just as Dinny had taught me to do. 

This trick delighted them, and they gave 
me lumps of sugar and made me do it over 
and again ; and finally they called the lady 
in the next flat to come and see what I had 
learned to do. When she came in, I not 
only walked, but sat up and rolled over as 
well. My mistress said that Dinny must 
have taught me. And then she told them the 
story of the poor little Irish boy, while I 
munched lumps of sugar and thought what a 
wonderful dog I had become. 



IV. 


I COULD see that things had been going 
pretty well with them during my absence, 
for there were two new chairs in the dining- 
room and a lot of new books. It was a stand- 
ing joke between them that, whenever there 
was any money to spend, Dolly bought chairs 
and John bought books. They used to laugh 
and say that it would be the happiest moment 
of Dolly’s life when she could set the table 
for a company of ten without having to bring 
out the parlor and bed-room chairs. 

Soon things settled down into the old ways, 
and I was trusted to go about with Dolly just 
as I had done before. The butcher had not 
forgotten me, and my old friends greeted me 
with kind words, and Dolly was congratulated 
on getting me back, while really it was I to 
whom congratulations were due. 

40 











/frzt^ vtrr 


I surprised them hath 






1 




“bic”: ^utobiogrttpl)^. 


41 


One night John came home looking very 
sad, and when he kissed Dolly he said : 
“Well, dear, poor Jim's gone.” Then they 
both cried a little, and I knew that Jim was 
dead. 

My mistress was very much excited as they 
talked of his death. She said : “ They may 
call it a fever if they like, John, but that man 
died of a broken heart.” And my master 
said : “ Yes, Dolly, I believe he did.” Then 
I swallowed hard and winked fast, and Dolly 
said, “Look, dear, Vic is crying too ;” and 
my master laughed and said, “What non- 
sense ! ” 

Something happened soon after this that 
made us all very unhappy. I could not quite 
understand about it myself, although they 
spoke of it very freely. It was some matter 
of business in which my master, through no 
fault of his own, lost the money which he had 
been trying to save and it put them in a very 
hard place. 


4^ 


^ixt0bio9ra|il)2. 


Master worried over it, and Dolly used to 
laugh at him and kiss the frown away from 
his forehead, and call him her dear old 
Cheap John ; but when he was away she 
used often to cry, herself, and I knew that 
she was quite as anxious as John was, only 
she joked and put a merry face upon the 
matter. 

After a time master fell ill from the nerv- 
ous strain and worry about his loss, and, as 
weeks passed, he did not seem to gain in 
health or strength. After awhile the new 
chairs, and soon some of the older furniture 
too, disappeared. I never knew where they 
went, only I saw Dolly go and hide behind 
the kitchen door after the man took them 
away, and she sobbed like a baby. But 
when John called her, in his weak voice, she 
dried her eyes quickly and went into the 
room laughing and with a funny joke on her 
tongue. 

You see, there was the doctor to be paid 




43 


and the medicines to be bought, and I could 
see that my poor mistress was beside herself 
with anxiety. Some nights I was hungry 
when I went to bed, but I didn’t mind that 
for myself, only I knew that when I was 
hungry poor, tired Dolly was hungry too, 
for she always divided her supper with me. 

The men who worked in the same office 
with my master were very kind, but they 
were all poor themselves, and rents and 
provisions were very high that winter. 

One day a queer man came to see my 
master. He was a round, roly-poly man, 
with fat cheeks and merry, twinkling eyes, 
and a nose so round that his glasses kept 
falling off. He had a loud voice, too, and 
talked a great deal. I heard my master call 
him Mr. Doyd, and then I remembered that 
I had heard them tell many funny things 
about him, and that they used to laugh 
whenever his name was mentioned. 

He was what my master called sporty.*’ 


44 


bic’’: 'l.ntobiogrttpijg. 


He wore trousers of a lar^e plaid, and a red 
necktie, and he talked a great deal about 
horses and dogs. I knew then that he was 
the man whom Dolly had laughed about 
once because he had called his twin babies 
“litter sisters,” and said that their “muzzles 
were too short for beauty.” 

I could see that Mr. Doyd had come upon 
^ome business errand. He asked John just 
exactly how things stood with them, and 
John looked pleadingly at his wife. Dolly 
couldn’t even muster up a smile this time, 
but got up and went out of the room, and 
I followed after her. 

I think that my master must have told Mr. 
Doyd that things were about as bad as they 
could be, for when we went back he was 
saying “Tut! tut!” in a husky voice, and 
wiping his glasses as hard as he could. 
When he caught sight of me he made a grab 
at me, saying, “Hello ! where’d ye get this.^” 
and he turned me around and looked at me 


‘"bic”: ^ittcbiograpl)^. 


45 


critically. Then there was some talk about 
a bench-show, and the puppy-class, and the 
all-age stake, and a lot of stuff which was 
new to me, and meant nothing at all. 

After Mr. Doyd left, master called me to 
him and put his thin hands upon my head 
and looked straight into my eyes. '' Vic, 
old girl, it seems like betraying a friend, but 
weVe got to sell you,” he said ; then he 
broke down completely and cried and put his 
arm about my neck and patted my head as 
he held me close up against his cheek. 

Mr. Doyd came the next day and took 
me away. Dolly ran and hid when she 
heard him coming, and I couldn’t help think- 
ing of how mother had hid when Jim came 
to take me from her. Dolly did not need to 
say good-by to me, for she had held me in her 
arms and cried over me half the night, and 
I had put my nose into her hand and wagged 
my tail slowly and tried to make her see that 
I understood. 


V. 

Tt was a great, cold, bare-looking building 
^ to which Mr. Doyd took me, and there 
were more dogs in it than I had supposed 
that there were in the whole world. But, 
then, I had limited ideas, or I would have 
known that fifteen hundred dogs was but a 
small proportion of the canine population of 
the earth. 

There were dogs of all sizes, ages and 
breeds, each in his little square pen, or stall, 
and the benches were placed in long rows 
throughout the entire length of the building. 
Soon a man put me into one of the pens, and 
tacked a card upon it. The card showed that 
I, Vic, had been formally entered in the 
Puppy Class of Smooth-coated Fox-Terriers, 
in the Third Annual Dog Show held by the 
Disgruntled Kennel Club of the Northwest, 

46 


C^utobiograpljs- 


47 


and that my number was 36. And below 
that were these ominous words : “ For Sale.” 

The straw of my bed was fresh and clean, 
but it was not like my cushion by Dolly’s 
chair, and I could not turn about without 
getting tangled up in rny chain. The aisles 
were very dirty, and, as many of the ladies 
who came to see us wore long, trailing 
dresses which swept along after them, the 
dust was kept stirring constantly, and it filled 
the air with a dense cloud which irritated 
our noses and throats and made our eyes 
water. 

Occasionally a man would walk about and 
sprinkle the floor with some disinfectant, 
which was used so plentifully that it ran in 
black rivulets or stood in inky puddles in the 
hollows of the boards. The ladies who 
passed through the aisles at these times had 
to hold up their gowns and pick their way 
about very carefully, as they would do upon 
a muddy street-crossing. 


48 


‘"bic”: ^ntobiogrojpljp. 


The attendants were kind enough, but I 
missed the touch of my master’s thin hand 
and the sound of my mistress’ sweet voice. 

The food was good, and there was enough 
of it, but I was too homesick to eat, and the 
barking of the dogs made my head confused 
and dizzy. 

It was all so strange and exciting that I 
did not realize how tired I was until the visit- 
ors had gone and the place was shut up for 
the night. Then I would have slept if I could, 
but the light and noise were so unusual that 
even my fatigue did not bring slumber to my 
eyes. 

Some of the dogs slept as calmly as though 
they were at home, while others were bark- 
ing and yelping almost continually. At times 
there would be a lull for a few moments, then 
some poor, frightened dog would howl dis- 
mally and tug at his chain, and that would 
start the clamor once more. 

Across the aisle from where we fox-ter- 


“bir”: ^ntobiograpljg. 


49 


riers were benched, were the Dachshunde, 
queer-shaped little creatures, with long bodies 
and bow-legs and sad-looking faces, framed 
by great, drooping ears. I had excellent eye- 
sight, and when I found sleep out of the 
question I interested myself by trying to 
make out some of the names upon the stalls 
opposite me. The one directly across was a 
funny Dutch name. I spelled it over three 
times before I could make anything of it. It 
was Mevrou,'' and it belonged to a sad- 
faced little chocolate-and-tan foreigner, who 
looked very lonesome and homesick and quite 
as though she were going to cry. 

I looked very steadily at her, for I wished 
to make her look at me. At last she did so, 
with such a pleading, sorrowful look in her 
eyes that I forgot my own loneliness in my 
pity for her. I thought that it might amuse 
her to see me sit up; so I did that, and then I 
rolled over, but I got entangled in my chain 
and nearly strangled myself. And just then 


^0 


‘‘bit'': ^nt0biogra|jl)2. 


an attendant, who was patrolling the build- 
ing, came by, and he straightened me out 
and hit me with a stick, and told me to lie 
still, in a very stern, cross manner. I was al- 
most afraid to move after that ; but when I 
looked across the aisle again, the little Dachs- 
hund wagged her tail and seemed to know 
that I had meant well by my performance. 

The stall next to mine upon the right was 
vacant, but the dog upon my left was a very 
nice, friendly sort of fellow, and extremely 
talkative, so that I learned from him a great 
many things which I never would have found 
out by myself. 

He had been at this same show the year 
before, and he pointed out the judges, whom 
he recognized by their badges, and some of 
the prize-winners of the last year. 

He was not homesick, and did not feel at 
all nervous, because he had grown used to 
that sort of thing. His master had shown 
him at every bench-show in the country for 


“bu”: ^titobi0gra|3l)2. 


51 


three years, and always with the same results 
— each verdict called forth an abusive letter 
to the judges, and one of complaint to some 
sporting journal. 

He told me that it was all foolishness for 
his master to expect to win a prize with him, 
because, although his pedigree was faultless, 
and he had some good points, still he was 
far too short in head, and very leggy, and 
bad behind. 

Indeed, my friend found more than a little 
fault with his master for bringing him there 
and subjecting him to all the discomforts of 
the place, as well as the mortification of 
being severely criticised by the judges and 
beaten by most of the dogs in his class. He 
belonged to another class of terriers than 
mine, and was a wire-haired dog, so we were 
not taken out to be judged together, as I 
had hoped that we would be. 

I was badly frightened when I found my- 
self in a large inclosed space with a few 


52 ^ttt0biogra:pl)p. 

other dogs ; for our class was small that 
year. The men who decided upon our mer- 
its were kind and gentle with us ; and when 
the set of my ears and my straight forelegs 
found favor in their eyes, I thought of how 
Jim had praised my. points to his friend. 
And then my thoughts wandered to poor, 
sick John and anxious little Dolly. I think 
I must have shown my sadness, for one of 
the judges patted my head and said : 
'‘Brace up, old girl!” And I did brace 
up, and carried my tail straight up, and 
pricked up my ears ; and in a few minutes 
I was taken back to my stall, and a man 
came and tied a blue ribbon to my collar. 
Then my neighbor told me that I was a dog 
whose acquaintance should be cultivated, for 
I was a prize-winner. 

Among the visitors at the show there was 
a young girl who seemed to be interested in 
dogs of every sort. She went from one to 
another, speaking a kind word to each. My 


“bit’': ^ntobiograijljg. 


53 


neighbor told me that he knew who she 
was. Her father, he said, was a rich man, 
and he had told her that she might buy any 
dog at the show, within reasonable bounds 
as to price, and now she was trying to select 
one. 

I asked my friend what he considered 
“ reasonable bounds,” and he answered, air- 
ily: “Oh, she wouldn’t consider two or 
three hundred dollars bad for a little fellow 
like me.” I looked at him to see if he was 
joking, but he looked sober enough, and to 
this day I can’t help laughing when I think 
of his disgusted look when I expressed sur- 
prise that he should be worth so much. 

Then he said that he wished that the 
young lady would buy him, for he would love 
to have her for his mistress ; but he added, 
with a sly look: “She will want a prize- 
winner, and I didn’t get even a V. H. C. I 
suppose master will write a letter to the 
judges to-morrow.” Then he told me that 


54 


“bic”: ^tttobioigrapljjj. 


poor little Mevrou had not taken any prize 
at all, because they said that she stood out 
at elbows and had not a long enough muzzle, 
although her peak and ears were good. 

I looked across at Mevrou then, and tried 
to get her attention ; but she sat there look- 
ing sadder than ever, with her ears drooping 
to the ground and her eyes bent upon the 
floor ; and I could not make her raise her 
head or look at me at all. 

Just then the young girl stopped before 
me. Her companion, a lady of middle age, 
put up an eye-glass, as if to examine me 
closely, but the girl herself caught me right 
up in her arms and hugged me close, say- 
ing: “Oh, auntie! this is the dearest one 
of all. I shall choose her.” Then she read 
my card. “Vic is her name, auntie, and she 
is for sale.” And after patting me and call- 
ing me a nice dog, the two women went 
away. 

After they left, my rough-coated friend 


“bit”: ^utobiograijl)^. 


55 


said: “Upon my word, you are in luck, 
Vic. She won’t get you for nothing, either, 
for Mr. Doyd has marked up your price 

again, and it is now” But I won’t tell 

what he said, because I am rather modest, 
and it seems absurd that a little creature like 
me should command so large a price. Only 
I remember that I would not believe what he 
told me until I looked at the card myself, and 
then a little thrill of pride ran through me — 
pride that I could bring so much money to 
poor Dolly and her dear Cheap John. 

My neighbor asked me if I had noticed a 
little silver cross at the throat of the young 
lady who was to be my mistress. I said that 
I had noticed it, and he began : “She wears 
that because she is a daughter of the King. 

She” But before he could say more an 

attendant came for me, and I was taken out 
and put into a carriage, right into the arms 
of my new mistress, and in another moment 
we were being whirled away. 


56 


^ut0bio9rapl)ij. 


I had never ridden in a carriage before. 
So far, the people with whom I had lived had 
either patronized the street-cars or gone on 
foot. It was luxurious to nestle against my 
new mistress’ soft sealskin jacket and to be 
covered by the rich carriage-robes. Then I 
fell to wondering what the pretty young lady’s 
name was, and presently her aunt said : 
“ Why, Helen, we are home already. I was 
half asleep, weren’t you ? And Helen re- 
plied, “No, auntie, I was thinking.” 

The carriage stopped before a great stone 
house, with “ Heatherton on the door- 
plate. Helen picked me up in her arms and 
ran up the steps and into a warm, dimly-lit 
hall ; then she went up another flight of stairs 
and down a corridor into a cosy little pink- 
draped sitting-room, without ever stopping 
for breath until she dropped me among the 
soft cushions of a chintz lounge. Then she 
took off her hat and coat, tossed them onto 


^tjtobiograpljp. 


57 


the table, and threw herself ’down beside me, 
saying, Oh, Vic, how good it seems to get 
home.” 



VI. 

T COULD not tell Helen that, although it was 
very pleasant to be where it was so warm 
and quiet and comfortable, still that pretty 
room was not home to me yet. 

I could see that she was fatigued, for she 
did not look strong, and soon her hand 
slipped off my head and her eyes closed, and 
I knew, by her regular breathing, that she 
was asleep. Then I began to look about the 
room, turning my head very carefully that I 
might not rouse her. 

The walls were of a soft gray tint, with 

great pink flowers here and there upon them. 

There were pretty pink silk draperies at the 

windows, the sills of which were very broad 

and piled with great cushions. The polished 

floor was covered by a rich oriental rug, and 

a large gray bear-skin lay before the grate. 
58 


“bir’': ^utobiograpl)^- 


59 


There were bowls of pink roses upon the 
mantel and table, and one was placed upon a 
bracket under a large oil portrait of a beauti- 
ful lady, with Helen’s own brown eyes and 
hair, but with a more commanding grace and 
a prouder bearing. 

I looked from the portrait to Helen’s face 
as she lay there. Hers was smaller and 
darker and less perfect in outline than the 
pictured face, but there were the same sweet, 
tender mouth and straight dark brows, and I 
judged that the portrait was of Helen’s 
mother. 

There was a small white-wood writing- 
desk with silver handles in one corner of the 
room, and a low shelf of books stood 
between the windows. Upon a rattan table 
there was a careless litter of books and 
magazines. Near this, a bamboo cabinet 
with silver mountings held picturesque jugs, 
rare bits of thin china, some queer-shaped 


60 


bic’’: ^utobiogra^jlj^. 


plates and a couple of candlesticks — the 
general miscellany of a Japanese cabinet. 

There were some photographs upon the 
mantel, some pretty girlish faces and an 
actor in Hamlet costume. Then beside the 
bowl of roses there was thrown, in a con- 
fused jumble, a collection of spoons — coffee 
spoons, egg spoons, pap spoons, apostle 
spoons, orange spoons — a bewildering lot 
of the daintiest trifles ever gotten together. 
Even with what I now know of the many 
vicissitudes of human life, I should say that 
there was no possible contingency for which 
Helen had not a spoon especially designed. 

There were but few pictures upon the 
walls besides the portrait ; and one that par- 
ticularly pleased my fancy was a large photo- 
graph of a kind-faced mother-dog surrounded 
by her litter of puppies. The dogs were 
mastiffs — a large breed, as unlike us fox- 
terriers as they can possibly be. Still there 
was something in the expression of that 


“bic’’: ^utobiograpljji. 


61 


great dog s face which reminded me of my 
own mother and the empty room behind 
Mack’s place, and I found myself swallowing 
hard at a big lump in my throat which felt 
as though it would choke me. 

As I looked from one pretty thing to an- 
other, I thought how Dolly would have loved 
just such a room. Then, as my thoughts 
returned from Dolly, in her poor, bare flat, to 
the girl lying there, so unconscious of all her 
good fortune, I realized, for the first time, 
how unevenly the good things of this world 
are divided, and I felt a strange bitterness in 
my heart for a moment. Only for a moment, 
mind you, for then the sweet mouth smiled, 
as in some pleasant dream, and — well, you 
couldn’t feel bitterly toward anything when 
Helen smiled. 

The whole tone of Helen’s room was soft 
and reposeful, suggesting, by its deep cush- 
ioned window-seats and low easy-chairs, rest 
and comfort. Wherever the eye rested there 


62 


^utobi0gra|jl)jj. 


was something beautiful to look at. There 
were no crude colors, no sharp contrasts. 
Everything was in quiet harmony ; and soon, 
overcome hy^ the soothing influence of the 
warmth and quiet, the gray and pink tints 
blended into a delightful, soft, blurry mist, 
and I fell asleep beside my new mistress. 

It was dark in the room when we awoke. 
Helen hurriedly lit the gas and looked at her 
watch. Why, Vic, we slept a long time, 
didn't we ? It’s nearly dinner-time,” said 
she, opening the door which led from the 
sitting-room into her bed-room, and dis- 
appearing from my view. 

I could hear her as she moved about in 
the next room, but I did not quite dare to go 
in, although the door was ajar. So I poked 
my nose in at the crack, and sniffed loudly to 
attract her attention, and then she called 
me in. 

There were the same beautiful, soft colors 
in the furnishings of this room, and every- 


^tttobiogra^jljg. 63 

thin^ showed luxury and taste. I ran about 
investigating the corners and closets, while 
Helen hurried to dress, throwing down one 
gown and then another before she chose the 
one which she put on. Helen bent her head 
over the roses as she unfastened the neck 
of her street-gown, and something bright 
dropped and fell with a soft tinkle upon the 
surface of the hand-mirror. When she picked 
it up I saw it was the little silver cross, and I 
remembered that my gossipy friend at the dog 
show had told me that my new mistress was 
the daughter of a king. And, as I looked at 
her, she seemed to me to be invested with a 
new dignity, and I fancied that there was a 
proud turn to her head which had escaped 
my notice before. 

Now, in my ignorance, I supposed that 
Helen’s father was the ruler of this country, 
and it seemed to my simple mind that her 
surroundings quite befitted a princess. So, 
when, after she had dressed for dinner, she 


64 


^tttobiogra^aljs. 


went out, saying : “After awhile I’ll come 
and get you, Vic, dear, and feed you and 
show you to papa,” you may imagine that I 
was in a flutter of excited expectation. She 
came back in about an hour, and took me 
down to the kitchen and made the cook give 
me some dinner. 

The cook was a large, vulgar-looking 
woman, but she seemed kind at heart, for 
she gave me a great plateful of meat and 
gravy, and stood watching me while I ate, 
meanwhile carrying on a spirited conversa- 
tion with the coachman and the house-maid. 
They discussed my appearance far more 
critically and less favorably than the judges 
at the bench-show had done, and the coach- 
man said that I looked like a cross between a 
rabbit and a goat. They all laughed immod- 
erately at this, and agreed that he had just 
hit it in describing me. 

And when my mistress came after me the 
cook said that they had been saying what 


^utobiogra:pl)2. 


65 


a beautiful little creature I was. After that 
I never liked nor trusted the cook. 

I followed Helen up-stairs to the drawing- 
room, too frightened to look up, when she 
said: “See, papa! This is Vic. We have 
come to thank you for each other.” When 
I did raise my eyes I scarcely could believe 
my senses, for there stood the man with the 
purple face and white mustache and big, 
bold eyes — the man who had teased Jim 
about “strawberry blondes” when Dutch 
Mack brought the men to see us pups. 

The recognition was mutual^ for the man 
exclaimed: “Why, that’s one of Dutch 
Mack’s pups, as true as I live. Did you get 
her pedigree, Nell?” Helen told my sire’s 
name and that of my dam. “ Sure, I wasn’t 
mistaken. Same pup Jim Parson picked out. 
Poor Jim ! ” muttered he. 

When Helen took me back to her room 
she brought out from her closet a big, fancy 
basket, trimmed with many ribbons and 


66 


“bic”: ^utobi0gra|jl)s. 


with numerous little pockets in the silken 
lining along the sides. She turned the 
basket upside down and emptied these 
receptacles of the thread, needles, embroi- 
dery silk and odds and ends which were 
tucked therein. Then she jammed a big 
silk cushion down into it and set it beside 
her bed, telling me that it was to be my own 
bed, and that I should go right to sleep. 

I was glad that she turned down the gas 
when she went out, because I could think 
better in the dark, and I wanted to figure it 
out about the man down-stairs. I thought 
over it for a long time, and I came to the 
conclusion that this puffy-eyed man, with the 
coarse face, could not be a king, and that my 
neighbor had meant something else. But 
how a man like that could be Helen’s father 
I could not understand at all. And, besides, 
I was very much puzzled about the silver 


cross. 


VII. 

Jn the course of time I became accustomed 
to my new home and was very happy 
there, although I never forgot John and 
Dolly, nor ceased to love them dearly. I 
was very fond of Helen. She was always 
good and kind to me ; and her laugh was the 
merriest, and her smile the sweetest of any 
that I have ever known. She was a little 
careless sometimes, but if she forgot and 
went away leaving me shut in her room 
without any dinner, she was so penitent and 
self-reproachful afterward, and she loaded 
me with such quantities of food and favors, 
that I could not feel any resentment toward 
her. 

She had a way of tossing her wraps down 
wherever she took them off ; and then she 
would quite forget them until she wished to 

67 


68 


^titcbiograiiljg. 


go out again, when the servants would be 
sent running all over the house for Miss 
Helen's coat or Miss Helen’s muff. But in 
most things she was rather thoughtful, for a 
girl of eighteen. 

Helen's mother was dead, and her place 
was filled by Mrs. Litchfield, Helen’s aunt, 
who, — although she had an aggravating 
way of looking at me through her eye- 
glasses and always spoke of me as '‘it,” — 
was really a kind and lovable woman. 
Helen’s father was very good to me and he 
took a great deal of notice of me whenever 
I was in the drawing-room, but he hardly 
ever came up to Helen’s room ; and I was 
glad of it, for there was always an odor of 
tobacco and something stronger about him ; 
and it seemed to me that he was out of place 
in that sweet rose-scented room. 

One day Helen sat reading in her sitting- 
room, and I lay at her feet, when Mrs. Litch- 
field came in. She seemed deeply moved by 


bic'': ^tttobiograijl)^. 


69 


something, and she held an old-fashioned 
daguerreotype in her hand. 

Helen,” she said, “ I have just been rum- 
maging among your mother’s things in the 
attic, and I came across this old picture. It 
looks just as your father did when they were 
first engaged, and your mother always treas- 
ured it on that account.” 

Helen took the picture eagerly. “ Why, 
auntie, how handsome he was ! and — auntie 
— it looks like you.” Mrs. Litchfield flushed 
at the pretty compliment, and Helen went 
on : ‘‘ It doesn’t look a bit as he does now, 

does it, auntie ? Why, auntie, what can 
have changed him so ? ” 

There were tears in Mrs. Litchfield’s eyes, 
and Helen stopped. There, there, I know, 
auntie, dear. It was mamma’s death and 
the worry, and — and — everything.” And 
Helen threw her arms around her aunt’s 
neck, and they cried softly together. 

As they sat there, wrapped in each other’s 


70 


bic’’: %n ^tttobio9ra}jl}j). 


arms, the picture slipped from Helen's lap 
and fell at my feet. I looked curiously at it. 
At first I could see nothing more than my 
own reflection as in a mirror; then a ray of 
sunshine fell upon it, and I saw a strong, 
noble face with clear-cut features and frank 
eyes — a face no more like the one which I 
knew so well than Helen’s was like the 
cook’s. 

I had often wondered how a beautiful 
woman like Helen’s mother could have been 
attracted to such a man as Mr. Heatherton ; 
but after I saw the picture I knew. Then I 
fell to pondering upon the change and what 
could have made it. I thought of the first 
time I had seen him. I remembered the big 
room back of the saloon, and I recalled the 
same strong odor which I had noticed about 
him. Then more memories came to me — 
the indistinct clink of glasses in the bar- 
room ; my mother’s master and “the boys” 


“bic’': Ckn '!lutobiograpl)ji. 


n 


— and then, like a flash, it dawned upon me 
that, if he chose, Dutch Mack could solve the 
problem of the change in Helen’s father. 



VIII. 


I DISLIKED and distrusted both the coach- 
man and the cook. But as Helen kept 
me with her at all times when she was at 
home, and shut me in her room when she 
went out, I saw but little of them except at 
meal-times. One day, however, when Helen 
had gone out with her aunt, the housemaid 
came softly into her room, and, after “shoo- 
ing” me into a corner, caught me and cov- 
ered me with her apron, and, sneaking down 
to the kitchen, delivered me over to the 
coachman. I had never had much of an 
opinion of the housemaid. She had seemed 
to me a very characterless sort of person, 
but perfectly harmless. When, then, she 
came crying “ shoo ” at me, as though I 
were a savage beast, I thought that she had 
gone clean out of her wits. Of course I did 

72 


“bic’’: ^ntobiagrapl)^* 


73 


not make any opposition to being caught by 
her, for no harm had ever come to me yet 
through any person, and I had perfect faith 
in everybody so far as my personal safety 
was concerned. So, when she told the cook, 
as she handed me to Robert, that she was 
nearly dead of fright lest I should bite her, I 
thought her the silliest person I had ever 
seen. 

Robert led the way, with me in his arms, 
and the cook and housemaid followed down 
the walk to the barn. We all went inside, 
and Robert carefully locked the door ; then 
the two women began to gather their gowns 
up from about their feet and to squeal and 
clamber upon some boxes which were there. 
I was very much interested in what was to 
come, for there was an air of expectation 
about the little party. So, when Robert 
handed me to the cook to hold, I followed 
his movements with my eyes, although she 




bic'’: !;iutobio9rapl}2. 


held me so tightly that I could not turn my 
head. 

Robert went to a corner and took a canvas 
bag up from the floor, disclosing a wire trap 
in which a small animal with a long, pointed 
nose, sharp, cruel-looking teeth and wicked, 
beady eyes, was running about. He bade 
cook let go her hold on me, and just then 
he opened the door of the trap and said 

Rats-s-s ! ” The animal ran out and started 
to run from me, but I had caught it before it 
was half way across the floor, and with one 
shake I laid it dead at Robert’s feet, with its 
backbone broken. The cook said that it 
was well done, but Robert insisted that I 
had killed it too quickly. He said that it 
was more fun when a dog worried the rat ; 
and then, while he and the cook were having 
a spirited discussion about how a rat should 
be killed, the housemaid carried me back 
under her apron and put me where she had 
found me. 


‘‘bk’': !Xn ^utobiograpljg. 


I'd 


None of the family ever found out that I 
had been out of the room, and Helen never 
suspected that her orders had been dis- 
obeyed. So that it was not long- before 
Robert, emboldened by his success, planned 
to have a trial of my mettle in something 
even more exciting. This time the house- 
maid carried me to the kitchen as before, 
and gave me into Robert’s arms, but she 
and the cook did not follow us to the barn. 
The cook evidently disapproved of the 
affair, for she told Robert that she washed 
her hands of the whole thing ; and she pre- 
dicted that he would get himself into trouble 
and said that he needn’t look to her to help 
him out. 

We went into the same part of the barn 
that we had been in before, and Robert was 
even more careful this time to see that the 
door was securely fastened. There was a 
red-faced young man there, and he held by 
the collar the ugliest-looking pup that I 


76 


“bic”: ^utobiogra^ji)^. 


ever saw in my life. She was heavier and 
larger in every way than I, and so built that 
her legs looked as though they were put on 
at the four corners like the legs of a table ; 
so far apart were they that I know that I 
could have crawled under her without touch- 
ing them. The loose skin was wrinkled over 
her square muzzle, and the length from her 
nostrils to her lower jaw was enormous. I 
approached her in a very friendly spirit, 
sniffing curiously at her heels, when she 
turned, and, without the least provocation, 
snapped viciously at me, taking a chunk out 
of my ear. Roused by the pain, and resent- 
ing the indignity, I sprang and caught her by 
the throat, and held on, I can tell you. She 
was a muscular dog, and she shook herself 
powerfully and tried to throw me off, but I 
never loosened my hold. It was my first 
fight, and I was thoroughly excited. My 
jaws never tired ; they were like a steel trap, 
and my grip never weakened. Every instinct 


‘‘bit”: ^utobiograpl)^. 


77 


bade me hold on until the dog dropped at my 
feet. The red-faced man had stolen out with 
his master’s bull-dog just as Robert had taken 
me. The men became fearful lest we dogs 
should be hurt, and thus betray them to their 
masters ; so the other man made Robert 
loosen my jaws and free his dog, and then 
they both sneaked off down the alley, while 
Robert carried me into the kitchen, petting 
and calling me Good dog.” I think that 
Robert had never really liked me before that. 
The cook washed my wounds, muttering 
meanwhile, and prophesying trouble for them 
all on account of what she termed Robert’s 
“ pig-headedness.” 

When Helen saw the scar upon my ear, 
she was completely mystified. The house- 
maid denied that I had been from the room 
at all, and she declared that I must have cut 
myself on the fire-shovel which stood by the 
grate, saying that she had found it overturned 
upon the floor. 


78 


“bic’’: ^ntobiagra^jljj). 


But Helen’s father gave a roar of laughter 
when he heard this. “ Why, the dog has 
been in a fight, Helen. Can’t you see that 
her ear has been bitten through ? I’ll bet 
Robert has taken her out and matched her 
against some other dog around here. I’d 
like to have seen how the othe;r dog fared. 
Sly boy, that Robert.” And he roared again 
and acted as though his respect for me was 
much increased, now that I had seen a little 
of “life,” as he called it. 

But Helen was very angry. What seemed 
a good joke to her father was an insult to her ; 
and although the servants denied all knowk 
edge of any such thing, I think she suspected 
the truth, for she kept me closer by her than 
ever before. Whenever she pointed to my 
ear and said “ Bad Vic ! ” I looked very 
sheepish and hung my head guiltily ; but I 
knew that I had only defended myself and 
had not invited the attack, and I only wished 
that I could make her understand that too. 


IX. 



HE family went but little in society. Mr. 


Heatherton hated going out and said 
that it was all nonsense for a man to make a 
martyr of himself in a close, crowded draw- 
ing-room when he could be comfortable at; 
his club. Helen was not very strong, and an 
occasional ball or party would leave her tired 
and exhausted for several days, during which 
time Mrs. Litchfield would load herself with 
reproaches for having urged the girl to go ; 
for Helen cared but little for that sort of 
thing. So they lived in a very quiet manner. 
They sometimes entertained in a dull, formal 
sort of a way. At such times merry, laugh- 
ing Helen was very stiff and prim, assuming 
quite as much dignity as Mrs. Litchfield 
herself. 

Helen had one young friend of whom she 


79 


80 


“fair’': ^utobiograpljp. 


was very fond. She was a girl of her own 
age, the daughter of an old family friend. 
Kitty, as they called her, rejoiced in the 
stately baptismal name of Katherine Eliza- 
beth, and she had a pedigree which was much 
longer than her bank account. But she was 
a bright, happy girl, notwithstanding the ''re- 
duced circumstances ” of her family, which 
subject she was wont to joke about and to 
treat in a very light manner. 

Kitty’s mother, who had been for several 
years a widow, was an invalid and went out 
very little ; so Kitty used to go about with 
Helen under Mrs. Litchfield’s chaperonage. 

Unlike Helen, Kitty loved parties and balls 
and all sorts of gayety, and she used to de- 
clare that if she had Helen’s wardrobe and 
Helen had her physical strength, they would 
then be prepared to enjoy life as it should be 
enjoyed. Sometimes she laughingly told 
Helen that she fairly disliked her when she 
thought of all the good luck that came to her. 


^utobiograiJljg. 


81 


and she said that she felt quite like an 
anarchist when she saw Helen’s jewels and 
lovely gowns. But in spite of her jokes and 
extravagant talk, Kitty was a dear, unselfish 
little girl, who loved Helen devotedly and 
didn’t envy her a bit. 

The two girls were together in Helens’ 
sitting-room one day. Helen was training a 
vine, which had just been brought up from 
the green-house, over her mother’s portrait. 
Kitty stood beside the mantel, idly tossing 
about the spoons which were heaped there, 
and seaming to enjoy the soft jingle which 
they made. “Helen,” she asked, with sud- 
den curiosity, “how many spoons have you 
here ? ” 

“Thirty-five or forty, I guess; I don’t just 
remember,” answered Helen, without tak- 
ing her attention from her work. 

Kitty carefully counted the spoons one by 
one. “Do you know you are awfully care- 
less to leave them about this way ? It isn’t 

6 


82 


“bic”: %n ^tttobio0ra|jl)ji. 


right to put temptation in the way of the 
servants,” said she, as, after counting them 
once, she carefully repeated the count. 
“Helen,” she said, gravely, “are you sure 
that you had thirty-five or forty spoons?” 

“Why, yes,” said Helen, glancing up with 
a look of surprise ; “ I counted them once 
last month for auntie. There were — let me 
think — there were thirty-eight, I am sure. 
Why?” 

“Well,” said Kitty, “there are just thirty- 
one spoons here now.” 

Helen dropped her vine and came across 
to the mantel. She counted the spoons as 
carefully as Kitty had done. 

“Why, my prettiest coffee-spoon is gone, 
and that dear little inlaid Russian tea-spoon, 
and the one I got in San Francisco, and the 
one that Cousin Clara sent me from Venice, 

and Why, Kitty, somebody must have 

stolen them.” And Helen looked very grave 
indeed. 


^^ntobiograpl)^. 


83 


“Well, I should say that somebody had,'' 
said Kitty, severely, “and it really serves 
you right for being so careless." 

“But who could have taken them? The 
servants are all honest, I am sure," said 
Helen, perplexed. 

“Well, who of the servants comes in 
here ? " asked Kitty. 

“None except Susan, the housemaid, 
have any business in here." And Helen 
went slowly down to find her aunt. 

Of course, the housemaid denied it all at 
first, but Mrs. Litchfield talked long and 
earnestly with her, and at last the girl 
brought out the missing spoons, all except 
one — that one she tearfully confessed that 
she had sold. 

Mrs. Litchfield brought the spoons back 
and placed them with the others upon the 
mantel. There were tears of pity, not of 
anger, in Helen’s eyes, as, with one move- 
ment, she swept the glittering pile into the 


84 


t)k”: 


skirt of her gown and carried them to the 
safe for her aunt to lock up with the rest 
of the silver. 

“Now, Helen, you might get a case made 
for them, a show-case like those in jewelers’ 
stores, with a glass cover and a lock and 
key ; then you could see your treasures, and 
keep them, too,” said Kitty, roguishly. 

But Helen replied, sadly: “No, there is 
no more fun in spoons for me now. I don’t 
want to have things which need to be 
watched.” 

The housemaid made a very touching 
story of it all, but she was discharged. 
When she came to say good-by to her 
young mistress, Helen was out of the room. 
Mrs. Litchfield bade the girl go in and wait 
for her, and as she stood there alone her eyes 
fell upon me. “You nasty, pampered little 
beast ! ” said she, kicking spitefully at me 
with her foot. “It is all your fault, but I’ll 
get even with you yet. You needn’t think 


“bic’’: ^nt 0 bi 09 rapl) 2 . 


85 


you’ll always be laying Vound on silk cush- 
ions while poor people has to work for a liv- 
ing. You ain’t seen the last of me yet, you 
ugly little cur.” Then she raised her hand 
to strike me. I never had been struck in my 
life, and I did then as any other dog would 
do — I showed my teeth threateningly, and 
her hand fell without striking the blow. 

When Helen came, Susan wept and told a 
touching tale of poverty and temptation, and 
how at last she had yielded because her 
mother was ill and needed the money for 
medicines. Helen talked long and earnestly 
to her. Drawing Susan’s attention to the 
little cross which hung at her throat and which 
had so mystified me, Helen explained how she, 
with nine other girls among her friends, had 
formed a little band, pledging themselves to 
help those who were unfortunate or in 
trouble ; how they called themselves 
Daughters of the King, and they tried 
always to be thoughtful and kind and ten- 


86 


bit’": ^^utabiogra^jljg. 


der and forgiving, harboring no resent- 
ment toward those who would injure them, 
because they were all — whether sinned 
against or sinning — the- children of one 
kind Father who was King over all. And 
then Helen told her that whenever she saw 
one of the little silver crosses, Susan was to 
look upon the wearer as a friend ; for the 
badge was meant to show a willingness to 
help others. 

I listened intently to the conversation, and 
I was glad to know at last the meaning of 
the emblem which had puzzled me for so 
long. 

Before the girl left, Helen gave her a gold- 
piece to take to her mother, and bade her 
leave her address, so that they might know 
where to find her. Susan professed to be 
quite heart-broken at leaving so kind a mis- 
tress, and in a wheedling tone she declared 
that she should miss me sadly — ‘Hhe dear 
little creature that I love like it was a baby,'’ 


‘‘bic’’: ^utobiogta|]l)rj, 81^ 

she said, tearfully. Helen held me toward 
the girl that I might receive a parting caress, 
but I drew away from the outstretched hand 
and growled. 

“Why, Vic! what can be the matter?” 
said my mistress. “ I am sure that I never 
knew her to act so before.” 

“ Oh, it’s nothing. Miss,” said Susan, fawn- 
ingly. “She don’t want to be disturbed, 
perhaps. She loves me dearly, Vic does, for 
I’m her good friend.” 

Then Susan went away, and after she was 
gone it was discovered that there were a 
number of things missing ; so Mrs. Litchfield 
and Helen went immediately to the address 
which she had left. But there was no house 
there at all — only a vacant lot. 

And that evening, in the drawing-room, 
the ladies told Mr. Heatherton the whole 
story, and Helen finished by telling how I 
had growled at the girl. He laughed long 
and heartily, as though it were not sad at all, 


88 ‘‘bic’': ^utobiograpl)^. 

but quite the funniest thing" in the world. 
And he teased Helen for being so easily 
imposed upon, and praised my intuition, for 
he said that I could tell a dishonest person 
by instinct. 

Somehow his talk grated upon me, and I 
caught myself wishing that Helen’s father 
did not laugh so noisily and so often, for it 
made him appear very foolish. 



X. 


A FTER this, life ran along very smoothly 
in the great, pleasant house. The new 
maid who took Susan’s place was a fresh- 
faced little creature with a small, trim waist 
and a coquettish set to her caps. There was 
a pleasant rustle to her neat, crisply-starched 
skirts, and there was about her an agreeable 
something, more invigorating than restful, 
perhaps ; but it really seemed good to see 
her bustling about and to hear the energetic 
click of her high heels. She was a clean, 
wholesome body, and underneath all her arti- 
ficial little vanities there was something 
honest and true, and I always liked her. 
She had a pleasing little touch of Irish 
brogue, and Helen used to wonder if she 
really had been christened Bettine. 

The year which had passed since Helen 

89 


90 


“bic*': !Xutobiogra^j|)g. 


brought me home seemed short, and it had 
brought no great changes to the family. 
Helen looked stronger and more robust than 
at first, but there was a troubled expression 
upon her face at times. Mrs. Litchfield 
had grown anxious-looking and careworn, 
but Helen’s father laughed louder and oft- 
ener than ever before. 

Kitty was engaged and expected to be 
married in the summer, but, so far as I know, 
Helen had never yet had a lover. Kitty used 
to pour all sorts of girlish confidences into my 
mistress’ ears as they sat in Helen’s room. 
“Of course/’ she used to say, “it would be 
all wrong to marry for money or to let that 
influence one in any way ; but now, since I’m 
in love with Fred, and he’s in love with me, 
and we’re engaged, and it’s all settled — I’ve 
been thinking it over, and I am awfully glad 
that he’s rich.” 

And Helen, listening to Kitty’s chatter, 
with her head upon her hand and a dreamy 


^utobiogra|3l)2. 


01 


look in her sweet brown eyes, never had 
seemed so beautiful before. A tender smile 
was upon her lips as she replied : “ Do you 
know I’ve thought sometimes that if I ever 
have a lover I hope he may be poor.” 

Then Kitty laughed. “ Why, of course, 
you romantic goose. That’s because you’ve 
enough for two, yourself. And, besides 
that, you don’t know anything about how hor- 
rid it is to be poor, as I do.” 

All this time I had never heard a word 
about John and Dolly, although I had 
thought of them often. Once I had thought 
for a moment that I saw Dolly passing, but I 
saw afterward that the woman looked older 
and that she walked with a groping, unsteady 
gait and leaned heavily upon the lady who 
was with her. So, of course, I knew that it 
could not be Dolly ; but I used to keep a 
pretty close watch at the window after that, 
thinking that some time she really might come 
by. Once again I thought that I recognized 


92 


‘‘bic'': ^ut0bi00ra|jl)2. 


my old mistress in a young lady with just 
such a quick, elastic gait and neat, trim figure 
as Dolly’s own. Helen had me out for an 
airing, and the young lady was coming rap- 
idly toward us. I ran a few steps to meet her, 
but I saw immediately that I was mistaken 
again, for the lady was a blonde with yellow 
hair and the bluest of blue eyes, and did not 
resemble Dolly in the least. 

They were busy making preparations for 
the coming wedding over at Kitty’s house, 
and Helen used to take me there almost every 
day, for it was only half a dozen blocks away. 
Helen used to wish to help Kitty with her 
sewing, but, to tell the truth, my mistress was 
not an adept in the use of the needle, and the 
work which she did was apt to have to be 
done over after she went home. One day 
Kitty declared that Helen should not touch a 
needle, but must sit and talk to her, instead. 
Helen insisted upon sewing, and at last Kitty 
mischievously told her that they always had 


^utobi0gra|jl)5. 


93 


to pick out her stitches and do them over, 
anyhow. Kitty’s mother glanced reprovingly 
at her, but it was too late, for Helen was 
really hurt, and no amount of coaxing or 
apologizing would make her stay longer. 
So she put on her wraps in a dignified way, 
and we started for home, after an osten- 
tatiously affectionate good-by to Kitty’s 
mother and a decidedly cool one to Kitty. 

We had turned into our own street and 
were near the gate of our home, when a man 
with a long wire lasso came tearing down the 
sidewalk toward us, and I saw that he was 
coming directly for me. I started and ran as 
fast as I could, but I could tell by the sound 
of his heavy foot-steps that he was in hot 
pursuit and gaining upon me. Just then the 
chase was joined by a third party. 

A young fellow coming by with a big book 
under his arm had seen the sport, and, speak- 
ing a word of encouragement to poor Helen, 
who stood trembling with anger and excite- 


94 ^nt0bi0gra|jl)p. 

ment, he threw his book down on the walk 
and started off on a swinging run that soon 
put the dog-catcher in the rear. He over- 
took me and caught me in his arms. I was 
trembling and out of breath with fear and the 
unusual exertion. He spoke very gently to 
me ; but his voice took quite another tone 
when he bade my tormentor go about his 
business, to which the man replied that that 
was exactly what he was doing. After a 
spirited debate and dire threats upon both 
sides, the dog-catcher started off upon the 
track of another dog whom he saw in the dis- 
tance, and the young man carried me back to 
my mistress. 

Helen could scarcely thank my preserver 
enough for having saved me from a cruel 
fate. Very pretty she looked as she stood 
there, her cheeks flushed with excitement 
and her eyes now flashing with anger, then 
beaming with gratitude. Very handsome he 
looked — this tall, athletic fellow — with hi§ 


“bic’’: ^^utobiograijljg. 


95 


bright blue eyes dancing with fun, and in his 
gay, frank manner turning the whole affair 
into a good joke. He held the gate open for 
Helen to enter, picked up his book, and, lift- 
ing his hat, he went on. 

I noticed that, while Helen told her aunt of 
the adventure, she did not mention it to her 
father, and I fancied that it was because she 
hated to hear him laugh. 

“ I know that he was a medical student, 
auntie, because I noticed his text-book,” said 
Helen, the next day. And Mrs. Litchfield 
looked up from her book in some surprise 
and asked, '‘Who?” Helen blushed a rosy 
red then, for she realized that her remark 
must have seemed irrelevant to her aunt, 
since the young stranger had not been men- 
tioned except when Helen had related her 
adventure the day before. 

But to Kitty — whom she must have for- 
given, since she went there the next day as 


96 




though nothing had happened — to Kitty I 
noticed that she talked more freely. 

‘‘ How was he dressed ? Did he look as 
though he were well-to-do ?” demanded this 
worldly-minded young person. 

‘"No,” answered Helen, thoughtfully, ‘H 
think not. In fact, I remember that I noticed 
that his clothes were a little bit shabby.” 
And the irreverent Katherine Elizabeth gig- 
gled. 



XI. 


IX itty’s wedding was a very small and 
unpretentious affair, and everybody said 
that it was charming. Mrs. Litchfield and 
Mr. Heatherton and Helen were the only 
guests outside of the immediate families of 
the bride and groom. I had an especial 
invitation. '‘Come early, dear, and don’t for- 
get to bring Vic,” Kitty said, as she kissed 
Helen good-by, for the fortieth time, on the 
afternoon of her wedding day. 

After dinner that night, Helen slipped on a 
simple white gown, and then we all walked 
over to Kitty’s. Helen insisted upon walk- 
ing. It seemed so much nicer, she said, since 
it was just to be an informal wedding, to run 
over in a neighborly way, instead of going in 
the carriage. 

I trotted along after Helen, and when we 

7 97 


98 


QVn QVutobiogra|jl)||. 


reached the house I followed her right up 
to Kitty’s room. Kitty was very sweet in her 
bridal robes, and she was wonderfully happy. 
She kissed Helen, and laughed and cried all 
at once, and she even caught me up and gave 
me a good hug. 

Pretty soon Fred came and led her, all 
smiles and blushes, down to the parlor, and 
they were married. Every one said that it 
was all very natural and unaffected, and quite 
unlike any other wedding that they had seen. 
Of course, I don’t know about that, for I 
never went to another; but it seemed beauti- 
ful to me, because everybody was so happy. 
Even Mrs. Litchfield’s care-worn look dis- 
appeared for the time, and Helen’s father was 
more dignified and subdued and gentle than I 
had ever seen him before. 

After all was over, and they had kissed the 
bride and eaten the dainty supper, and toasted 
the bride and groom and everybody else in 
a very merry fashion, Kitty went up and 


^ntobiograplj^. 


99 


put on a dark gown, and then she and Fred 
drove away in a carriage, amid a shower of 
kisses and rice, and followed by a chorus of 
good-bys. 

We all went home after that. Helen 
lagged a little behind her father and her aunt, 
and I suited my pace to hers and kept at 
her heels. It was a beautiful moonlight 
night, and Helen stopped ^t the door to 
watch a falling star. 

“ Come, come, Nell, what are you loiter- 
ing for ? ” called her father. 

, “ I was making a wish for Kitty,” she said, 
laughingly, as she kissed them good-night 
and went up to bed. 

The day after the wedding I saw my 
deliverer again. Helen had been over to 
cheer Kitty’s mother, for it was lonely with- 
out Kitty. As they stood at the door chat- 
ting, the tall young man, with his text-book 
under his arm, came by. He raised his hat 
courteously, and Helen blushed and had 


100 


%n ^titobiograpi)^. 


almost bowed in return, when she perceived 
that his salute had been to the older lady. 
Then she blushed still more and looked very 
much confused. Kitty’s mother raised her 
brows inquiringly when she saw Helen’s 
pink cheeks and conscious manner; so Helen 
laughed and told her all about my adventure. 

“Well, he’s a nice boy,” said she, when 
Helen had done telling her how he had res- 
cued me. “ I have known his mother for 
years, and I know that he is a kind son and 
a good, true fellow. He is studying medicine 
and will graduate this year.” And Kitty’s 
mother ran on with a deal of pleasant gossip 
concerning the young man. It did not inter- 
est me at all, but I saw that Helen listened 
very intently. 

“ What is his name ? ” I heard my mis- 
tress ask, as I came back from a little run up 
the street. 

“Valentine Merton,” was the reply. 

As Helen sat by her window that night. 


‘‘bit’’: ^ittcbiogrttpl}^. 


101 


looking up at the moon, I heard her say to 
herself : “Valentine Merton — that is a good 
name.’' 

I never knew just how it was that Val 
Merton was formally introduced to Helen ; 
but I always thought that it was through 
Kitty's mother that they became acquainted. 
At any rate, it was not long before he was a 
frequent visitor at the house and a great 
favorite with everybody. 

He used to stop often on his way to and 
from the college, and Mrs. Litchfield and 
Helen were always entertained and amused 
by his frank, boyish ways and his accounts of 
the things that happened, and his funny 
stories about his classmates. And in the 
course of time it became “Helen” and 
“Val,” instead of the more formal “Miss 
Heatherton ” and “ Mr. Merton.” 

Mrs. Litchfield had a more than kindly 
regard for the young man, and she took a 
sort of motherly interest in his plans for the 


102 


^utobiogra|jl)ji. 


future. Thus it came that Val’s ambitions, his 
hopes and his prospects were freely talked of 
among them all. 

One day, shortly after his graduation, he 
was offered an opening with a celebrated 
specialist. This meant success to his cher- 
ished aims ; and as soon as he had told his 
mother, he hurried over to bring his good 
news to his dearest friends. 

Mrs. Litchfield met him at the door. She 
was delighted at his success and grasped his 
hand warmly in congratulation. Of course 
you’ll want to tell Helen yourself,” she said 
demurely, although there was a sly twinkle in 
her eyes. '' Helen is out, but I look for her 
any minute, and, as there are callers in the 
drawing-room, and brother’s lawyer is busy 
in the library, I am going to take you right 
up to Helen's sitting-room — that is, if you 
wish to wait for her.” 

A look of positive gratitude lighted Val’s 
boyish face, and he murmured that if she 


“bic’': !:^utobiograpl)i). 


103 


pleased he would wait until Helen came. Then 
he followed Mrs. Litchfield up the stairs, and I 
pattered along behind. Mrs. Litchfield threw 
open the door and showed Val into the room; 
then, excusing herself, she hastily withdrew. 

Val stood just inside the door, looking 
about the pretty room, as though it were too 
sacred a place to be entered. He drew in 
long breaths of the fragrance of the roses 
which Helen kept always about, and his eyes 
seemed to have taken in every detail of his 
surroundings before he ventured to cross to 
the window. He stood there for a moment 
enjoying the dainty sweetness of the room ; 
then he took a corner of the silken window 
drapery in his hand, and, first pressing it to 
his cheek, he kissed it reverently. 

When he noticed me he seemed confused 
for a moment. Vic, old dog,” said he, 
presently, '‘why should I mind you? You 
know how I love her, don’t you ? ” I wagged 
my tail, which meant that of course I had 


104 


“bic"’: ^ntobiograpl)^. 


known it all the time ; but Val did not seem 
to understand me at all, for he went on, say- 
ing in a half whisper, Yes, Vic, I love her — 
I love her — I love her.” I began to wonder 
if he really thought that I was too stupid to 
understand what he said ; so I looked up in 
his face and barked, and just then Helen 
came in, and I supposed that, of course, he 
would tell her, too. 

Helen was out of breath from hurrying 
up-stairs, for her aunt had told her that Val 
was waiting for her with good news. 

She came in, all rosy from her walk, and 
with an expectant look on her sweet face. 
Val began to tell her about his new pros- 
pects, but he did not put half the enthusiasm 
into telling it that he had when he told Mrs. 
Litchfield. 

He mumbled and stumbled over his words, 
and seemed so painfully embarrassed that it 
confused Helen too ; and then they both 
stood there, silent, like the two silliest people 



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in the whole world. He was looking down 
at her, and she was looking down at the rug, 
until her eyes fell upon me. I looked very 
eager — oh, how I did wish that I could 
speak — and Helen asked : What is it, Vic ? ” 
I looked straight at Val, and at last he stam- 
mered out : “ She wants me to tell you what 

I’ve been telling her, but I have not the 
jourage. You tell her, Vic.” And then Helen 
bent down and laid her cheek upon my neck 
and asked : “ What was it, Vic ” But there 

was no need for me to tell, for Val’s arm 
slipped about Helen’s waist then, and, with 
her head upon his shoulder, he somehow 
mustered courage to tell her what he had 
told me, and a good deal more, too. 

That night, after Helen had gone to bed, 
she reached down and gently pinched my 
ear as I lay in my basket. Whenever Helen 
pinched my ears I knew that she was very 
happy. 

Now, it may seem conceited of me to say 


106 


bir”: !:^utobioi9rtt|3l)2. 


it, but, as I think it all over, I honestly be- 
lieve that if it had not been for me, Val would 
never have dared tell Helen at all. 




XII. 


A BOUT a month after Helen’s engagement 
was announced, Mr. Heatherton fell ill. 
This illness did not seem serious at first, and 
he laughed at Mrs. Litchfield’s anxiety, and 
quite refused to call a physician or to keep 
his bed. He insisted that he would be about 
in a day or two, and that he only needed a 
little petting. So he would lie upon the 
drawing-room lounge, with me curled up at 
his feet, and listen to Helen as she played 
upon the piano the airs which he loved. He 
had been accustomed to joke about Helen’s 
singing before, for she had rather a weak 
little voice, although it was very sweet. But 
now he used to ask her to sing very often ; 
and he would call always for the old-fashioned 
tunes, like ‘^The Ingleside” and “Annie 
Laurie” and “The Land o’ the Leal.” 

107 


108 


“bic’’: ^ntobiograpl)^. 


Helen would sing" them, in her soft, little, 
crooning voice, and her father would quite 
forget to make fun, but would pronounce them 
charming and would say that there was really 
something wonderfully sympathetic about her 
voice, after all, and that she must keep up 
her practice better. Then Helen would blush 
with pleasure at his compliments and would 
pull my ears to hide her embarrassment. 

The few days of rest did not set Mr. 
Heatherton up, as he had expected ; and 
days ran into weeks, but still he was unable 
to go down to his business, and he looked 
very thin and pale. Val tried to frighten 
him into consulting a more experienced phy- 
sician, but he laughed at their fears. Fi- 
nally, however, just to humor Helen, he con- 
sented to call their family doctor. With 
grave faces Mrs. Litchfield and Helen and 
Val listened to his verdict. There was little 
to do, he said, only to humor the patient 
and to keep him as comfortable and quiet as 


^titobiogra|j|)p. io9 

possible — that was all. Mr. Heatherton 
never inquired what the doctor had said. 

There were many long, quiet days after 
that. No visitors were allowed except Val, 
and the sick man’s face always brightened at 
his step. Sometimes they would play a 
game at dominoes or checkers — Val and he 
— but Mr. Heatherton would forget the 
points and would soon tire of playing. 

In time the invalid took to his bed. He 
had no pain, only a feeling of languor. At 
first he kept saying that he would be up 
in a day or so ; but after a while he quite 
forgot about getting up, and lay there per- 
fectly content. He liked to have me near 
him, and so I used to lie all day by his side, 
and he would rest one hand upon my head. 
As the time passed I could not help noticing 
that his hand was growing thinner and 
whiter, and that it lay heavier upon me. 

Helen was with him constantly. She used 
to read and sing and to talk with him, and 


110 


‘‘bir”: ^ntobiottrapl)^. 


there seemed a closer companionship be- 
tween the two than there ever had been be- 
fore. Helen had brought her mother’s por- 
trait down from her sitting-room and had 
hung it at the foot of his bed, and her father 
used to talk for hours of the goodness and 
beauty of the mother whom Helen could not 
remember. Sometimes he was quite absent- 
minded, and he would ask, over and . over 
again, the same questions, forgetting that 
Helen had replied to them. When he would 
suddenly recollect himself, he would laugh — 
a queer little laugh, half like a sob. 

Val was very kind and tender. It fright- 
ened him to see how pale Helen was grow- 
ing. “You must get out of doors, Helen; 
you will make yourself ill,” I heard him 
whisper to her one day while her father 
slept. But Helen put her finger on her lips 
and shook her head. “ He would miss me,” 
she said, simply, and Val only kissed her for 
a reply. 


^titobiograpljs- 


111 


At times Mr. Heatherton scarcely talked 
at all. He would lie in a sort of doze; hold- 
ing- always to Helen’s hand ; and when she 
would ask if he was quite comfortable, he 
would nod in reply, and smile a sweet, happy 
smile. 

At last he lay all the time in a stupor, and 
the doctor said that the end was very near. 
They never left him — Helen and Mrs. Litch- 
field and Val — after that. One day, just as 
the sunset was turning everything to gold, 
he roused from his stupor, and, raising his 
head, he looked uneasily about the room, as 
though seeking something with his eyes. 
When his glance fell upon his wife’s portrait, 
his face lit with a satisfied smile, and he sank 
back, still looking at the pictured face, which 
was radiant in the golden glow. 

With a feeble motion he beckoned Val 
and Helen to come closer, and he took a 
hand of each into one of his own thin hands ; 
then he streched out his other hand as 


112 


^ntobiograplj^. 


though he wished for something more. Mrs. 
Litchfield made a motion toward his medi- 
cine, but he shook his head with a troubled 
look. Then Helen whispered, “ He wants 
you, auntie and as she slipped her fingers 
into his, the contented look came back ; and, 
with a child-like smile on his lips, his life 
went out with the dying day. 



XIII. 

/^N the day of Mr. Heatherton’s funeral I 
was stolen, and this is the way it 
happened. As the last of the long line 
of carriages drove away from the house, the 
cook remembered that in the grief and 
excitement I had been quite forgotten, and 
that I had not been fed that day ; so she 
came up to Helen’s room after me, filled with 
self-reproach for her neglect. I tried to eat, 
but the food choked me, for I could only 
think of poor Helen and her sorrow. Cook 
said to Bettine that I must have fresh air to 
give me an appetite ; so she put me out of 
doors in the back yard. 

I had only been there a short time when 
I was seized by a man who jumped over the 
fence, and, thrusting me into a bag, jumped 
l^ack again in a jiffy. I was conscious then 

8 1*3 


114 


^utobiograijl)^. 


of being thrown into a buggy and driven off 
at a rapid gait. 

The bag was tightly wrapped about me, 
so that I could not see at all where I was 
being carried ; but from the conversation of 
the two men, one of whom had waited with 
the horse while the other seized me, I learned 
that I was being stolen partly in the hope of 
a reward and partly to gratify a spite. 

It was Susan, my former enemy, who had 
told the men where I could be found. I was 
to be taken to the home of her aunt, in 
the outskirts of the city, where I was to be 
left until a reward was offered for my recov- 
ery. Susan’s aunt was an honest old soul, 
and she would not for the world be a receiver 
of stolen goods. She was not to know that 
I had been stolen, for the men were to say 
that I had been given to Susan, and that she 
begged that her aunt would take care of me 
until she could find me another place. All 
this I learned by keeping my ears open. 


‘"bic’': ^iit0biogra|jl)2. 


115 


It was with no ungentle hand that my ab- 
ductor undid my wrappings and lifted me out 
of the buggy. He set me down on the 
ground, but he took the precaution to thrust 
my head between his feet, so that I could 
not run away, while he fumbled in his pocket 
for a bit of stout string. This string he tied 
about my neck, and he led me into the yard 
and rang at the door of the cottage. 

When he had explained his errand to Su- 
san’s aunt, who seemed to know the man, 
she peered through her glasses at me and 
said that Susan was a great one, to saddle a 
dog onto her at her time of life, but that it 
all came of her being over-indulgent, and that 
she supposed that it couldn’t be helped, be- 
cause she was born so. Then she said : 
“ Come along, Fido,” and she pulled me into 
the house and shut the door in the man’s 
face. 

Everything was comfortable inside the 
cottage, and much neater and cleaner than 


116 


bk”: ^tttobiograpljs. 


one would expect to find it in such an un- 
pleasant locality — for the narrow, unpaved 
street contained only little cottages and 
shanties, and many of the vacant lots were 
filled with tin cans and all sorts of rubbish. 

Susan’s aunt was very kind to me. She 
fed me well and made me a good, soft bed ; 
but she kept me tied to her chair all the 
time, partly because she feared that I would 
run away, but still more because she was 
afraid that I would get out and chase her 
chickens. 

So it was that, except my first glance, I 
had scarcely seen what the neighborhood 
was like, although I had been there two 
weeks, for the moment that I tried to look 
about me when out of doors she jerked me 
into the house, muttering: ''It’s them chick- 
ens. She smells ’em.” 

One day she went out and left me alone, 
still tied to her chair, which was, luckily, a 
light one, so that I could drag it with me to 


“bic’': ^ut0biogra|il)p. 


117 


the window. It was my first taste of any- 
thing like liberty, and I looked about me 
with great interest. There was something 
in the whole neighborhood which seemed 
half-familiar. The house next door was an 
old shanty, with a little wing newly built. 
It seemed almost as though I knew the 
place, and yet it seemed somewhat strange. 
I was trying to straighten it all out in my 
mind, when the door opened, and out came a 
ruddy-faced little old woman, with a big, 
shining milk-can in her hand. 

I knew her in a minute. It was Dinny’s 
grandmother, and with one leap I went 
through the window, breaking the string 
which had held me. The old woman did not 
see from which direction I had come, for she 
only discovered me when I ran under her 
feet. 

She was very nearly upset by my frantic 
attempts to show my joy at seeing her again. 
She knew me at once. ‘‘ Well, well, now ! 


118 


bic’’: ^utobio9ra|il)2‘ 


if it ain’t Toby ! He’s sthrayed away again, 
an’ he do remember we be his friends. 
Won’t the lad be keen to take him back to 
his swate misthress.^ It do be a longtime 
since he was here before.” She patted me 
gently, and then shut me in the shanty, that 
I might surprise Dinny when he came home, 
and off she trotted with her can. 

From the window of Dinny’s shanty I 
could look across to the house which I had 
just left, and soon I saw Susan’s aunt return 
from her errand. She had not been long in 
the house before she discovered my absence, 
and the broken string showed that I had left 
in a hurry. She came out, and I saw her go 
into the street and look up and down, shad- 
ing her eyes with her hand. I fancied that 
there was a look of relief on her face when 
she went back into the house, as much as to 
say that she had done her duty, and it 
couldn’t be helped, and now, thank good- 
ness, her chickens would be safe. 


“bic'': ^tttobiograpl)^. 


119 


When Dinny came home that night I ran 
to meet him, and he was so glad to see me 
that he actually tried to stand upon his head. 
He hugged me and kissed me, and called 
me all sorts of pet names, and then he tried 
to make me do the tricks which he had 
taught me ; but I am ashamed to say that I 
had almost forgotten them, and I did them 
very clumsily and awkwardly indeed. 

Dinny had grown to be quite a lad, and he 
walked and ran about, almost like other 
boys. The hump was still there between 
his shoulders, but it looked to me much 
smaller than it was before. When his 
granny came home, they talked it all over 
and decided that Dinny was to take me back 
to my mistress early next morning, before 
he went to his work — for he was at work 
now in a great shop down town, and he 
earned enough so that they were very com- 
fortable. 

Of course they knew nothing of my hav- 


120 


“bic’’: %n ^ntobiograpl)^. 


ing been sold, and they supposed that I still 
belonged to Dolly and John. Dinny looked 
and found the address which Dolly had so 
carefully written for him a long time before, 
and he laid it with his cap that he might 
have it ready the next morning. After 
we had gone to bed — I in my old place on 
Dinny’s cot — Dinny called out to his grand- 
mother, “ Granny, fwat if de lady be moved 
away ? and the old woman answered : “Sure 
then, youse can foind from the neighbors 
’round where she bees gone. Whist, lad, to 
sleep wid yez.” 

You can imagine that I slept but little that 
night. The excitement of my escape and 
the thought of seeing my dear mistress and 
master once more were too strong for me, and 
I found myself lying there wide-awake, in spite 
of all I could do. I had thought of Helen 
often since I had been taken away from her. 
I missed her sweet face and her kind words, 
and I knew that she must miss me ; still I 


‘‘bic”: ^ut0bio0ra|j|)2‘ 


121 


felt that in her present grief and her sorrow 
she had Val to comfort her, and that, 
although she loved me, she never could miss 
me and need me as Dolly did. Somehow, in 
all the time that I had been away from her, 
I still felt that I belonged to Dolly. And 
whenever I thought that I was to go to her 
in the morning, I almost barked for joy. 

Daylight came at last, and when Dinny 
had eaten his breakfast he fed me and kissed 
his grandmother, and we started off together. 
It was a long walk to my old home, but we 
got there at last, and I cannot tell you how 
my heart sank when Dinny read the name 
upon the door-plate and found that it was not 
that of my old master. Could yez give me 
the address of the gintleman who used to 
live here?” asked Dinny of the girl who 
answered his ring. The girl wrote it down 
for him. It was in a neighboring suburb, 
half an hour out by the steam-cars, she said. 


122 


bic’': ^utobiogra^jl)^- 


Dinny trudged across lots to the station near 
by, and we took the first train out of the city. 

Dinny was allowed to hold me upon his 
lap, and from the car window I got my first 
sight of green fields, which stretched away 
as far as I could see. The air was fresh and 
sweet, and I sniffed it with delight. When 
we reached the town for which we were 
bound Dinny had no trouble in finding the 
place for which he was looking. It was a 
big, pretty house, with a great lawn and 
trees, and with hammocks and vines and 
flowers about everywhere. We ran up the 
walk, and Dinny rang the bell. 

‘'Can we see the missis?’' asked Dinny, 
including me in his pronoun. 

“Well, thin. I’ll see,” answered the smiling, 
broad-faced girl who came to the door. 

“Who is it, Nora?” a soft, sad voice called, 
and Nora replied, “Sure it’s only a shmall 
b’y wid a dog.” I pushed past the girl and 
ran into the parlor, for I was sure that I rec- 


123 


^utobiograpljg. 

ognized Dolly’s voice. But was it Dolly or 
was it not — the pale woman who sat there 
so still among the cushions of an easy-chair? 
She looked so much older than Dolly had 
looked, and her hair was all streaked with 
gray. I went up closer to make sure, and I 
sniffed at her gown. She reached out, grop- 
ingly, for me ; then, as she felt my nose, she 
cried out ^^Vic!” and I knew that it was 
Dolly, and she knew that it was I. 

For a moment she held me tightly, and I 
felt the hot tears falling upon my head, while 
I licked her dear hands ; and then she reached 
for her handkerchief to dry her tears, but she 
could not find it, although it was in plain 
sight and very near her — for my poor mis- 
tress was quite blind. 


XIV. 


l^iNNY had explained to the servant his 
errand, and she came to her mistress 
with his message. Dolly said that there 
must have been a mistake, because they had 
not owned me for a long time, but she said 
that she would keep me and have her 
husband return me to my owner, whoever 
he might be. She gave a little sigh as she 
said that, as though she could not bear to 
part from me again. Then she asked Nora 
if the boy who had brought me was a 
freckle-faced little fellow with a crooked 
back. When Nora said that he was, Dolly 
cried, “Why, it must be Dinny. Bring him 
in to me, Nora.” All this time she was 
holding me tightly as though she feared that 
I might get away from her. 

Dinny shyly followed Nora in, and Dolly 

124 


*‘bic”: ^utobiograplj^. 


125 


called him to her. “And so you remember 
me, Dinny?” she said. “You see that I 
haven’t forgotten you, either. But I cannot 
see you at all, dear; please come near and 
let me see how tall you have grown.” She 
passed her fingers lightly over the boy’s face 
and shoulders. “Why, you are a great boy 
now. And so the doctor was right ; they 
did make you well, didn’t they ? Tell me all 
about it, please. But first tell me where you 
found Vic.” 

Dinny told her all that he knew ; he said 
that he had not found me, but that I had 
found him, and that it was very mysterious 
how I had come to them. Then he told 
about himself and his granny; how the 
doctors had kept him for a long time at the 
hospital and then sent him home almost 
well ; how Jie had worked first at selling 
papers and afterward in a shop, where he 
had earned good wages. And Dolly was 
very glad to hear that they had built a new 


126 ^^^mobiograpl)!!. 

wing on the shanty with the money which 
Dinny had saved. 

When he had finished telling all his own 
story, he said, timidly : “ An' you, lady, have 
youse been ailin’ long." 

For many months, dear," said she. 

“ Mabby thim same doctors could heal 
yez," suggested the lad. 

“ I am afraid not. I have tried a great 
many of them." And she changed the subject 
back to me again. 

Soon Dinny said that he must be getting 
back to his work; and it was very reluctantly 
that he accepted the money which Dolly paid 
him for his trouble. 

Some things had gone well with John 
and Dolly since I had left them. Their 
money troubles were over, and John was 
strong and well again. But the worry and 
over-work had left my mistress in a weak 
condition, and a severe strain upon her eye- 
sight had resulted in total blindness. In vain 


“hie’’: ^ulobiograpljg. 


1^7 


they had procured the best medical help for 
her ; she was little improved, and, except 
when John was with her to lead her about, 
she sat patiently idle, with a pitifully sad 
look on her face — the mere shadow of her 
old, merry self. 

John was delighted to see me again. He 
said that he was tempted to keep me at all 
hazards, and that he almost dreaded to find 
my owner for fear that he would not sell me. 
“For you must have her, Dolly, even if I 
have to steal her for you,” he said, jokingly. 
But he advertised faithfully and really tried to 
trace my ownership, although I dare say that 
he was glad that I was not claimed by any 
one. 

It was touching to see John’s tender devo- 
tion to Dolly. He would lift her up and 
carry her about in the yard, guiding her 
hands among the plants and flowers, that she 
might see how they were thriving. It 
seemed very sad to me to see busy little 


128 


bir’': Qln !^titobiogra|jI)jj. 


Dolly so still and silent. During all the 
hours that John was at home, he never left 
her side, and I was always sure to be right at 
their heels. 

At last it occurred to John that Mr. Doyd 
was the only one who could straighten out 
my appearance upon the scene. One day 
Mr. Doyd came home with John ; and I was 
laughingly shown as an example of a faithful 
dog who would follow his master to the end 
of the earth. They had a long talk, and Mr. 
Doyd promised to look the matter up and to 
arrange for my purchase, if possible, pro- 
vided he could find my owner. 

Mr. Doyd was quite as fat and as funny as 
ever, and he talked as loudly as before. He 
had a great deal to say about a new pointer 
of his which was gun-shy ; but I noticed that 
he kept his eyes upon Dolly all of the time 
and winked very hard, and seemed to be 
swallowing at a lump in his throat. Before 
he left he tried to engage my mistress in 


^iitobiograpl)|i. 


129 


conversation, but he blundered about and 
seemed to get nowhere at all in what he 
was telling ; and at last he ended by saying, 
in a broken sort of way: “I’d — I’d really like 
to see you feelin’ brisker, my dear.” And 
Dolly actually laughed aloud, almost as she 
had laughed in the old times. 

John looked fairly startled for a moment; 
then he ran across to her and took both of 
her hands in his, crying: “ Oh, Dolly, let me 
hear you laugh again. You don’t know how 
it helps me, dear.” 

Mr. Doyd winked and swallowed harder 
than ever, and he picked up his cane and 
started off without his hat ; then he came 
back for his hat and started away without 
his cane. When he had really got both 
and was gone out of sight, John told Dolly 
how he had looked, and that made her 
laugh again. 

Th-at night, as they talked it all over, John 
said that he was beginning to fear that Dolly 


130 


“bic’': '^lutobiograpljs. 


never would smile ag-ain, because her life was 
so saddened. And Dolly stretched out her 
arras toward him, and said: ‘'Oh, John, I 
have been so selfish to be always thinking of 
my own sorrow. I never have seemed to 
remember that it was hard for you too. 
Can you forgive me, dear?” Then John 
told her that she was the dearest, most patient 
and unselfish woman in the world, and that 
if he could make her just a little happy, he 
never would ask for anything else. I barked 
loudly and tried to get their notice then, for 
I wanted them to see how I loved them; but, 
for once, they paid no attention to me, for 
they were laughing and kissing each other ; 
and finally I crawled off by myself, feeling a 
little bit snubbed. 

After that, Dolly was different. She was 
cheerful and even merry at times, and some- 
times I heard her singing to herself as she 
sat waiting for John. Her voice was very 
low and unsteady, as though she had almost 


^utobiograpljjj. 


131 


forgotten how to sing, but I could hear it 
because I was very close to her — right at 
her feet, lying on the train of her soft gown. 

The first that we learned of Mr. Doyd’s 
success in finding my owner was when 
Helen came to see us. I knew her when 
she opened the gate, and I ran to greet her 
and jumped about her feet. It had been 
months since I had seen her. Then she had 
been thin and pale, but now she had grown 
plump and rosy again, and she looked very 
beautiful and sweet. 

She seemed very much pleased to see me, 
and I led the way proudly to Dolly, who sat 
on the piazza among the vines and flowers. 
Dolly arose at the sound of her approaching 
footsteps, and Helen introduced herself and 
said that she had come from Mr. Doyd. She 
said that Mr. Doyd had told her a good deal 
of my past history, and that he had said that 
my old master would like to buy me back 
again ; but they would talk of that later. 


132 


^ntobiograpljp. 


Then they began to chat like two old 
friends, and fully an hour passed before 
Helen arose to go. ^‘And now about Vic,” 
she said, taking both of Dolly’s hands in her 
own. I want to get a home for her, because 
we are going to sail for Europe next month, 
and the house will be closed for an indefinite 
time. So you see that you will do me a 
favor by accepting what is really your own 
— for I feel that Vic belongs to you more 
than to me. She will be such company for 
you, and she loves you far better than she 
ever did me. It will make my mind easier to 
know that she has a kind mistress and a 
good home ; and, besides, I do not need her 
a bit myself, for I — am going — to be mar- 
ried.” And Helen blushed all over her sweet 
face. Then she kissed Dolly before she 
could say a word in remonstrance to her 
offer, and, calling a good-by to my mistress 
and me, she ran down to the gate. 


‘‘bic*’: ^tttoliiograpljg. 


133 


And Dolly smiled to herself as she groped 
her way along the porch to where the four- 
o’clocks grew. They were her time-pieces, 
she said, and when they opened she knew 
that it would not be long before John would 
be home. But this time the day was a little 
cloudy and the blossoms were still closed, 
although it was quite late. Dolly gave a 
little sigh. ‘'Vic, why is it that time goes 
so slowly when we have good news to tell ? ” 
she asked me ; and I barked, for I saw John 
coming over the top of the hill. 



XV. 

Cor a year our life was very uneventful in 
^ that pretty country home, and then a 
wonderful thing happened. It would take a 
long time to tell you all about Dolly’s recov- 
ery of her sight. There were long months 
of treatment, and then a painful operation, 
and at last my mistress was able to see again. 

I shall never forget the day when she came 
home. They had taken the bandages from 
her eyes that day, and she could hardly wait, 
so impatient was she to get home ; for she 
had been all this time in a city hospital. 

I was watching at the window for her. 
She wore a thick veil, so that her eyes should 
not be strained before they had become 
accustomed to the light. As soon as he had 
led her into the hall, John picked her up and 
danced about like mad, still holding her in 

134 


“bic”: !:^tttobio3rapl)2. 


135 


his arms. He was fairly frantic in his delight, 
capering about in so undignified a fashion 
that Dolly screamed with laughter and begged 
to be let down. At last, when his glasses 
had fallen off and my master was quite out of 
breath, he set Dolly down in a great chair 
and carefully undid the veil and wrappings 
from her eyes. 

I jumped into her arms in an instant, for it 
was the first chance that I had had to get near 
to her, because all my attention had been re- 
quired in keeping out from. under John’s feet. 
After she had hugged me and told me over and 
over again how happy she was to get back, 
she held me up to look at me. You must re- 
member that it had been a long, long time 
since she had seen me at all. I suppose that 
I must have appeared somewhat changed to 
her ; at any rate she gave a little surprised 
exclamation when she discovered some gray 
hairs about my ears. 

John, bring me a hand-glass,” said she 


136 


“bic"’: ^ntobio^rapl)^. 


suddenly, as though an idea had just come to 
her. John trotted off obediently, and re- 
turned bringing a small mirror, which he 
presented to her with a comical low bow. 
Dolly held it up and looked into it. Her 
cheeks had grown plump and smooth again, 
and the fresh color had come back with her 
recovered health. She gave a satisfied little 
sigh when she saw the pretty face reflected 
there ; then she bent down her head, and for 
the first time she saw the silver streaks 
through the waving brown hair. 

“ Oh, John ! ” she said in a tone of despair, 
dropping the mirror and clasping her hands 
in a woeful attitude. 

'‘What, Dolly?” asked John cheerfully. 

‘^Why didnt you tell me? ” 

“ Tell you what, dear ? ’’ smiled John. 

“Why, that I was getting old,"' said my 
mistress, with a real sob in her voice ; and 
then so queer a thing happened that I could 
not understand it at all — Dolly, my mis- 


^utobiogta^jljg. 


137 


tress, who had borne poverty, illness, and 
even the loss of sight, without a murmur, 
laid her head down on her John’s shoulder 
and actually cried because she was getting 
gray. 

It was in the fall when Dolly was pro- 
nounced cured, and she and John and I spent 
hours wandering about in the woods behind 
the house. Dolly said that it seemed as 
though she never could make up for lost 
time in enjoying the beauties of the gor- 
geous autumn coloring. And she would sit 
and draw in long breaths of the fresh, sweet 
air, while John ran to bring her the leaves 
which she most admired, and I would dig 
and hunt about for wood-chucks or gophers 
or any other live thing that might be about. 

Fall ran on into winter, and then Helen 
came back from the long foreign tour, bring- 
ing a little Helen who pulled my ears and 
said ''a-gee” and ‘"a-goo.” Mrs. Litchfield 
used to come out with Helen sometimes, but 


138 


‘‘bic’': ^utobioigrapl)!). 


she paid very little attention to me and still 
called me '' it'' She was married the next 
year and went to live in a distant city, where 
she was soon followed by Helen and Val ; 
for Val found there just the opening which 
he had been seeking for in his professional 
work. Dolly has always heard often from 
them, and the pictures of Baby Helen which 
they have sent my mistress from time to time 
would quite fill a bushel basket, I am sure. 

Dolly continued to improve all that winter, 
and I never shall forget the merry time that 
we had at Christmas of that year, and I am 
going to tell you about it. 

The morning before that happy day, Nora 
came in with her eyes open wide. 

Shure, an’ is it a party wese be havin’ 
to-morrer ? There do be the biggest 
turkey I iver seen come up wid the other 
things. He do weiglT^ twinty pounds, 
shure.” 

And John laughed and said: “Yes, Nora, 


“bic”: *^11 !^utobiograpl)|). 


139 


we are to have some waifs out to help eat 
him.’^ 

“ Waifs, is it ? Look out it ain’t thafes, 
thin,” said Nora, laughing at her own joke, 
as she went back to the kitchen. 

The next day John went into town early 
and at noon came home, bringing three 
dirty, ragged little strangers whom he had 
picked up at random on the streets. 

'‘I invited Dinny, but he had another 
engagement,” he laughingly called to Dolly 
as she opened the door. “These are some 
little friends whom I met down town. They 
are Marcus and Harry and Jacob. Boys, 
shake hands with the lady.” One by one 
each of the boys timidly put a grimy little paw 
into Dolly’s white hand. “ I am glad to see 
you, boys,” she said, and the boys all 
grinned a little and stood looking down at 
their feet. 

When Dolly led them into the parlor they 
all huddled close together on the sofa, and 


140 


bic'': -Autobiograptjg. 


sat there, too much embarrassed to speak, 
until John called me in and made me sit up 
and roll over for them. Then he called Dolly 
to come with him, and they ran off up-stairs. 
I knew that it was not a usual thing- to leave 
visitors like that, but I could see that my 
master had done a kind thing in going out of 
the room ; for as soon as the boys saw that 
they were alone tkey began to talk to each 
other, timidly at first, then more freely, until 
they seemed to feel quite at home. They 
went about on tip-toe, looking at the pictures 
and furniture and making comments on what 
they saw. 

They seemed to like me, and they were 
not afraid of me at all. Harry kept me per- 
forming my tricks until I was quite tired of 
it and crawled off under the lounge and pre- 
tended to be asleep. 

They were interesting little fellows. Mar- 
cus was a German boy, and Harry was 
Irish, while Jacob, the youngest, was a Jew. 


bit'': ^ntobiograpl)^. 


141 


They were eleven, ten and nine years of 
age, respectively. Marcus had a beautiful, 
thoughtful face, with dark, earnest eyes and 
a tender little mouth ; while Harry was a 
pug-nosed, freckle-faced little lad, with merry 
gray eyes; and Jacob — well, you would 
have laughed to see Jacob, with his comical, 
hooked nose and his little squint eyes, which 
were quite crossed ; and, besides, Jacob 
talked through his nose in a sort of half- 
whisper. 

When my master and mistress came down 
to their little guests, the boys seemed to have 
overcome their shyness, for they talked and 
laughed and listened to Dolly as she played 
and sang for them until it was dinner-time. 
John sent them to the bath-room to clean up 
a bit before they went out to dinner ; and 
they looked quite like different boys when 
they came down with their faces shining with 
soap and water, and their hands clean — up 
to their coat sleeves. 


142 


‘‘bic’': ^tttobiograplig. 


They tiptoed awkwardly into the dining-- 
room, and took their seats in frightened 
silence ; but when they saw me take my 
station in the deep window-seat, overlooking 
the table, they thought it was very funny, 
and they all laughed aloud. 

My mistress did not feed me at the table, 
but she always allowed me to sit in the 
window, where I could see all that went on 
and listen to what was said. It was worth 
while to see those children eat. Over and 
over again master filled their plates, and 
finally Marcus stopped with a little sigh, 
while Harry fairly groaned. 

It seems so good to have enough to eat,” 
said Marcus, thoughtfully, and I saw tears in 
Dolly’s eyes as he added: “You know we 
can’t have all we want at home, because there 
are so many of us.” And when Marcus said 
that he believed that a dinner like that would 
have cost as much as thirty-five cents at a 
restaurant, Dolly said that she had never had 


“bic'": ^utobiogra|)l}B. 


143 


a more honest compliment than that. John 
said it was a study to see the small Jacob 
tiptoe around and pick up Harry’s napkin, 
which had fallen under the table. 

In the afternoon there was more music. 
Afterward Marcus amused himself with 
pencil and crayon, and Jacob was happy to 
be allowed to show what he could do with a 
pen and ink. These two sat and drew 
pictures, while Harry, who had no taste for 
such things, looked longingly at Dolly’s 
guitar, which stood in a corner. 

'‘Would you like to take it, dear?” asked 
Dolly, who seemed to read his thoughts. 
Harry’s eyes fairly danced, but he was too 
shy to answer, and only hung his head and 
blushed. Then Dolly put the guitar into his 
hands, and she and John pretended not to 
notice the little lad as he softly fingered the 
keys, keeping time with a foot which stuck, 
half bare, out of his torn shoe. He was 
sitting on the great lounge, and for half an 


144 


^utobiograpljp. 


hour the gentle tinkle told John and Dolly 
that the lad was perfectly content. Then 
the soft sounds ceased, and Dolly turned and 
saw a happy little freckled face laid close to 
an old guitar. The gray eyes were shut, 
and the long black lashes brushed against 
the thin cheek, and the lad’s arms were 
twined about the instrument in a close em- 
brace. 

“ Dear little heart,” whispered Dolly, and 
John wiped his glasses. 

The guitar was a useless old thing, broken 
and cracked ; and when Harry awoke, Dolly 
asked him if he would not like to have it for 
his own. 

His eyes glistened. “ Oh, ’deed I would ! 
but ’twouldn’t do no good, for father he’d 
take it from me.” 

"'Then will you come out here again and 
play on it some time ? ” asked Dolly ; and 
Harry said that he would. 

When the boys were ready to go, John 



They seemed to like me, and they were not afraid of me at all 



. 


i 





• > 

I 


% 


* . • . 1 

I 

* • 



■ 



« 


? 

4 * 





i 


^ntobiograpljj). 


145 


gave each a dollar besides their car-fare, and 
Dolly added some little gifts and filled their 
pockets with candy and nuts. “Now, boys, 
you must all come and see us again," said 
she, cordially. 

Marcus gravely said : “Yes, ma’am, perhaps 
we will come on some Thanksgiving day.” 
Harry only blushed and smiled bashfully ; 
but Jacob, with both of his hands in the box 
of candy, said, cheerfully : “ Bebby we’ll 

cub dext week." 

And then these three little waifs, who 
until that day had never seen each other, 
went out, arm in arm, the best of friends. 
Of the three, Jacob was the only one whom 
we never saw. again. Marcus came several 
times, and he always spent the day in draw- 
ing and talking to John and Dolly. It was 
truly wonderful to see how he picked up 
nice manners and behaved quite like a little 
gentleman at the table, copying John as 
closely as he could, 

IP 


146 


“bic’’: ^utDbiograpljg. 


Harry came once. There was with him a 
white- faced, half-starved little fellow, with a 
vacant stare on his poor, pinched face. Harry 
introduced him to Dolly as ‘'Oscar — a boy 
I brungy Oscar was even more quiet than 
Harry, and he did not open his lips except 
to eat. But how he did eat ! 

Harry was cleaner than on the occasion 
of his first visit, but he was pale and thin, poor 
lad, and with a tightness in his hollow chest, 
so that he could scarcely speak without cough- 
ing violently. There was the scar of a fresh 
cut on his head, and a black-and-blue mark on 
his cheek, and such an odor of stale rum in 
his clothes that Dolly could easily guess why 
he had feared to take the guitar home. 

Harry played for hours on the guitar, while 
Oscar gazed wonderingly, filled with admira- 
tion, at the performance. And then Nora 
produced an accordion, as wheezy and asth- 
matic as the little lad himself. Harry played 
upon this for a time, but we were all g-lad 


^utobiogra^jljg. 


147 


when he went back to the guitar — that is, all 
except Oscar ; he looked wistfully at Nora’s 
instrument, and Harry shyly announced : He 
like de ’cordeen best.” 

When it was beginning to grow dark, 
Dolly wrapped a great, soft muffler of John’s 
about Harry’s narrow chest, and tucked it in 
his jacket ; then she kissed him and shook 
hands with Oscar, and the boys went out. 

Good-by, dears,” she called, in reply to 
Harry’s hoarse adieu. Then she turned to 
my master. “John, we never will see that 
poor 'little fellow here again,” said she, 
gravely. 

John shook his head, saying: “No, I fear 
not.” And they never did. For, when John 
went the next week to Harry’s home to see 
if he might bring the little lad out for Dolly 
to nurse and coddle up a bit, he found him 
very ill with pneumonia, and three days 
afterward the poor child died. 


XVI. 


trolly was not very strong the next sum- 
mer, and one night when John came 
home he found her in tears. Now, it wasn’t 
a bit like Dolly to cry, and I wondered what 
could be the matter; for Helen had been out 
that day, and they had had a nice, cozy visit 
over their afternoon tea, and both had seemed 
in unusually good spirits. So when, after 
Helen had waved good-by from the corner, 
Dolly came back into the parlor and threw 
herself down on the lounge and burst out 
sobbing, I did not know what to make of it. 

I rooted about the pillows and tried to get 
at her, but her face was buried in the eider- 
down cushion and she would not raise it, 
although I whined and made a great fuss. 
Soon, however, she put out her hand and let 
me lick that, and I tried to comfort her as best 

148 


‘"bic’’: ^utDbiograpI)^. 


149 


I could. Before John came she became quite 
calm, but still looked rather melancholy, and 
when she heard the gate click and his foot- 
steps hurrying up the walk, she began to cry 
again. 

John was dreadfully worried. “ Why, little 
girl, what is it ? ” asked he, with deep concern, 
but she only shook her head, and said that 
she didn’t know. “ Has the canned fruit be- 
gun to work ? Or have you found bugs in 
Nora’s bed again?” asked John, vainly trying 
to remember the few times when Dolly had 
been reduced to tears. 

''No,” said Dolly, still weeping, "there 
isn’t anything ; only I feel as though some- 
thing was about to happen.” 

"Of what nature will the catastrophe be? 
Anything in the cyclone or earthquake line ? 
Because, if it is sure to come, we might as 
well be prepared,” laughed John, making 
light of her fears. 

"John, please don’t,” sobbed Dolly; and 


150 


bic”: Qln ^utobiogra^jl)^- 


then John took her on his lap and held her ten- 
derly, and rocked her as a mother rocks her 
babe ; and when tea-time came Dolly was 
quite herself again. 

The next morning’s mail brought a postal 
card for John. He read it aloud : 

“Dear John: Your uncle William and myself will be at your 
house, if nothing prevents, to-morrow, for a short visit. 

“ Your most affectionate AUNT ELIZA.” 

“ There,” said Dolly, “ I knew it would 
happen.” 

“Dolly,” said John, “you are gifted with 
second sight. I will never laugh at your 
forebodings again.” And they both laughed 
so heartily that Nora came in from the 
kitchen to see if Dolly had rung. 

That was a way Nora had of not missing 
anything. Whenever there was an unusual 
bit of fun going on she came in to see if 
Dolly had rung for her. 

The next day the guests arrived. Aunt 
Eliza was John’s aunt, and Uncle William was 
her father, and great uncle to my master. 


“bic”: 9ln (i^utobiograpl)^. 


151 


Uncle William was over eighty years old, but 
still hale and hearty, and the kindest, dearest 
old man that ever lived. 

Aunt Eliza was about fifty. She wore a 
false front of black hair, with a wide parting 
of net, and her teeth did not fit her — but 
that was really the fault of the dentist. She 
was one of those women who are, unfortu- 
nately, over-supplied with saliva, as the cor- 
ners of her mouth testified. When she talked, 
the saliva was secreted very rapidly indeed, 
and gave her words an unpleasantly moist 
sound. She talked a great deal, but mostly 
to Dolly. To John she had but little to say. 
Almost everything that Uncle William did 
called forth the word “ Father! ” in a reprov- 
ing tone. 

When they sat down to tea Uncle William 
carefully laid his napkin to one side, without 
disturbing Nora’s elaborately folded design, 
and tucked his red cotton handkerchief, bib- 
fashion, into his collar. 


152 ‘‘bic’’: ^utobiograijljg. 

Father,” said Aunt Eliza, sternly. The old 
man looked inquiringly at his daughter, and 
saw that she was eying the handkerchief with 
disapproval. “ It’s all right,” he said, cheer- 
fully. “ I got another for my nose, Lizy ! ” 

Aunt Eliza sniffed her disdain. 

When Nora passed the strawberries and 
cream she proffered the tea-spoons at the 
same time. Uncle William shook his head. 
*‘No, thank you. None for me,” he said, 
picking up the spoon which was in his tea- 
cup, and beginning at his fruit. 

But his daughter was watching him. Fa- 
ther ! ” she said, warningly. 

“Yes, Lizy,” said he, reaching after the 
retreating Nora, and startling her so that she 
upset the spoon-holder on the floor. “There, 
Lizy!” exclaimed he, with some spirit, “I 
hope you’re satisfied now.” 

Eliza made no reply, but if she was satis- 
fied, she certainly did not look so. 

That evening, after supper, the two men 


^^utobiograplj^. 


153 


went into the garden to smoke. John smoked 
a cigar, but he had found for his uncle an 
old Dutch pipe. It pleased the old man 
greatly, but, catching sight of Eliza’s skirts 
in the next room, he whispered: “ Mebby 
we’d best go outside, John. Lizy’s got a 
powerful nose for tobacco.” So outside they 
went, and I followed them. Up and down 
the paths they walked, the smoke from the 
pipe mingling with that of the cigar in a blue 
cloud. Finally they stopped, and stood under 
the big beech-tree at that side of the yard 
farthest from the house. 

The old man puffed away in meditative 
silence for a time. ''John,” said he, "ever 
lived about much where there's been many 
wimmen ? ” 

"No,” answered his nephew, smiling; 
“only Dolly. You know I never had any 
sisters, uncle.” 

“Yes, yes! I know,” interrupted he. 
“Thought mebby you’d seen suthin’ of ’em, 


154 


‘‘bic’': ^utobiojgraiii)^. 


boardin’ here an’ there. Well, they’re a 
queer lot ! ” 

They puffed away again, and the silence 
was broken only by the soft summer night 
sounds: the cricket’s chirping, the hoarse bull- 
frog over in the meadow and the far-off mur- 
mur of the mourning-dove in the woods. 
There was something of sadness in the grow- 
ing darkness, and even I felt the spell. 

Presently the old man spoke, but in a low 
tone, as though he dreaded to break in upon 
the stillness. “John, can you remember 
your Aunt Lydja ? ” asked he. 

“No, uncle; you know Aunt Lydia died 
before I was born.” 

“Pshaw, pshaw! Of course. What be I 
thinkin’ of ? ” ’Twas when Lizy was a baby, 
wa’n’tit?” He smoked on for awhile. Lydja 
was a likely woman, John. Dolly favors her 
summat. Odd, too, when there ain’t no kin- 
ship between ’em. Now, Lizy, she hain’t 


‘‘bic’’: ^ntobiograpl)^. 


155 


none o’ Lydja’s ways. She takes more after 
me, I reckon” — with a little sigh. 

Soon they started toward the house. When 
they were almost there Uncle William caught 
John’s arm. ‘'See that star, boy?” asked 
he, pointing with his long pipe-stem to a 
bright star in the north. “ Her and me uster 
watch that, mor’n sixty years ago.” 

When Uncle William went into the house 
Eliza began to sniff about. “Father, you’ve 
been smoking ! ” 

“Yes!” said he, a little defiantly. 

“And what’s made your eyes so red ? ” 

“ Smoke blew in ’em,” said the old man, 
although he well knew that there had not 
been a breath of wind stirring. 

Uncle William and Aunt Eliza stayed a 
week at the house. Uncle William went to 
town with John each day, and his daughter 
stayed and “visited” with Dolly. She told 
my mistress all about John’s babyhood; how 
his mother set him on his feet too soon and 


156 




made his legs bow; how backward he had 
been about talking, and how he had a fear- 
ful backset when he was cutting teeth, so 
that they feared he might be foolish. She 
said that his mother’s family was just full of 
scrofula, and that it was a blessed mercy 
that Dolly and John had no children, for 
likely as not they’d have been rickety. 

She spread newspapers down over the 
carpets so that the sun should not fade the 
colors ; and she asked Dolly if she had had 
any clothes laid by to be buried in, in case 
she should be taken suddenly. Aunt Eliza 
never spoke of dying; she always called it 
“being taken,” and I could see that Dolly 
shivered whenever she said the words. 

She started two quilts for Dolly, a “rising 
sun’" and an “album,” and said that she sup- 
posed that of course Dolly would have them 
finished when she came again. Now, my 
mistress hated a needle. She could not sew 
a straight seam nor make a proper knot, and 


bic'': ^utobiagra|il)5. 


157 


she used to beg John to sew her buttons on 
for her sometimes, but she never dared to 
own her weakness to John's aunt, and so she 
sewed away and pricked her fingers and 
strained her eyes, that Aunt Eliza might 
think her industrious. 

Aunt Eliza was shocked to find that Dolly 
didn’t put down her own meat. She offered 
to come over and help her “corn” a quarter 
in the fall ; and when Dolly demurred, on the 
plea that it disagreed with John, she said : 
“Um, of course — scrofulous 

Dolly asked John afterward what scrofula 
really was, and he said he’d be blessed if he 
knew, only it seemed to be something which 
the relatives upon each side of a family 
always secretly accused the other side of 
having. John said that he had seen pictures 
of people who were afflicted with the disease, 
in almanacs and patent-medicine advertise- 
ments, and they seemed generally to be 
going about on crutches and having a hard 


168 


^utobbgrapljs* 


time of it ; but as for folks in real life having 
it, he didn’t believe they ever did ; at least he 
had never seen any cases. Then, as Dolly 
looked relieved, he added: '‘Aunt Eliza has 
been talking to you, I see. Just wait till you 
hear some of my aunts on my mothers side, 
if you want to find out who is really respon- 
sible for all my shortcomings, physical and 
mental. And say, Dolly, did she tell you that 
I was an unusually backward child?” 

“ Yes,” admitted Dolly, dolefully. 

“ Well, don’t you believe it.” 

And John kissed Dolly, and ran away, 
chuckling to himself. 

Aunt Eliza asked Dolly if she had ever 
heard of any insanity in John’s mother’s fam- 
ily; and when Dolly said, “No,” and asked 
her what she meant, she said, “ Nothing.” She 
just wanted to see if Dolly had heard any- 
thing ; and she said it in such a mysterious 
way that Dolly was half beside herself. 

She asked what they were doing for my 


“bic*': 'l^utobiograpl)^. 


159 


fleas. Dolly said that I never had any. Then 
she said that they needn’t tell her that, and 
ended by saying that if John must have a 
dog, why didn’t he get a big one that was of 
some account ? She told Dolly that the way 
Nora wasted food was a disgrace, and it was 
little wonder John had a hard time to get 
along. In fact, if I were to tell half that she 
said to my poor, discouraged mistress, I would 
fill a large book. 

It would not take long to tell all that Dolly 
said to her, though, for it was mostly in 
meek monosyllables that she replied. At 
the end of the week I heard Uncle William 
tell John that they had stayed long enough, 
and ought to go home. I can see,” added 
he, '‘that Lizy’s frettin’ Dolly some, an' we 
don’t want to outstay our welcome. Lizy 
has a meddlesome way sometimes. We get 
on first-rate, — her an’ me, — for I’m middlin’ 
easy-goin’, an’ she likes the whip-hand. But 
J don’t want her a pesterin’ Dolly.” In vain 


160 


^utobioiirapl)^. 


John urged them to remain longer, and Dolly 
seconded his invitation. Eliza was willing to 
stay, but her father insisted that he could tell 
by his feelings that they were going to have 
a spell of weather, and he must get back 
home. So they went away, and Uncle Will- 
iam took Dolly into his arms and kissed her, 
saying: '‘Good-by, Dolly. Be good to your- 
self.” And he wiped his glasses and blew his 
nose all the way to the gate. 

John had made the old man a present of 
the Dutch pipe, for he enjoyed smoking it 
better than any other. It cooled the smoke 
just right, he said. As they started off I saw 
the stem sticking out of his pocket, and I did 
hope that Eliza wouldn’t discover it before 
they got home. She did not, for in his next 
letter, quaintly written and spelled, there was 
a postscript : 

“ My long-legged friend all right. She draws beautiful.” 

Eliza had evidently read the letter over, 
and she did not suspect, for she had written 


^ntobiograpljs- 


161 


underneath : “ Father is sometimes a little 
flighty, I fear. You must excuse his post- 
script.” 

It took Dolly a week to get over the effect 
of Aunt Eliza’s visit. I do try to like your 
family, John; but the next time I hope that 
Uncle William will come alone,” whispered 
she, as she sat with her head on Johns shoul- 
der. And John responded, fervently, ''So 
do I.” 



xz 


XVII. 


I CANNOT remember whether it was the next 
^ year or later that I met Higgles. A 
stranger had bought the lots next to John’s, 
and had built a very handsome house upon 
the land. My master’s home was a large 
frame building, with bay windows and porches 
and odd corners jutting out here and there. 
It was a comfortable-looking place, and very 
artistic and picturesque, so every one said. 
The grounds were large and well-kept, and 
there was an air of home about everything, 
and it was, and is yet, the very coziest, 
dearest spot that you can imagine. 

The house next door is a far more impos- 
ing structure, Dolly says, but it lacks some- 
thing, and she never can just make out what. 
It is a large stone house, with a great deal 
of stained glass and beveled plate, and every- 


^ntobiograpl)S. 


163 


thing is very handsome and expensive. 
Somehow the people who first lived there 
looked just like the house — handsome and 
expensive, but uncomfortable. Dolly said 
this, or I never should have thought of it, but 
I could see myself that it was so. There was 
one thing, however, that certainly looked out 
of place there, and that was Miggles — dear 
old homely Miggles ! 

He was a mongrel dog, yellow and white 
in color, and large and awkward in build; 
with a short, blunt muzzle and sad, droop- 
ing ears. I did not know, myself, what breed 
he was the most like, and once, when I asked 
him, he said that he hadn’t the slightest idea, 
for, really, he had never given it any thought ; 
and then he went on chewing a dirty, greasy 
bone and waving his great, bushy tail right 
in my face. 

Perhaps I did allude to my own pedigree 
rather superciliously, but I was younger then 
than I am now, and poor Miggles forgave 


164 


bic’’: ^ut0biogra|jl)2- 


me afterward for any airs which I may have 
assumed with him at first. There are times 
when well-mannered dogs, as well as well- 
mannered people, cannot resist a tendency to 
brag a little ; and I had heard John boast so 
often of my pure blood that I had begun to 
be impressed by my own importance. Even 
Dolly used to say to her visitors that one 
really could not help noticing the difference 
between the thoroughbred and common dogs. 
She said that I was always gentle and kind — 
so dainty in every way, too, and quite unlike 
the dirty, rough dogs which one saw running 
about the streets. But I noticed that she 
never passed one of those same rough, dirty 
dogs without a kind word or gentle pat, and 
I think that she had a warm corner in her 
heart for even the most disreputable-looking 
mongrel that ever ran on three legs. 

The way that I came to know Miggles was 
this : John and Dolly went out for a visit just 
as the family next door were moving into 


2ln ^utobicgrapljg. 


165 


their new house, and so I was thrown a good 
deal upon my own society. Nora had a heart- 
less way of shutting me out of doors just at 
the time when I most wished a nap on my 
cushion, and I had then either to stay out 
and roam about alone or to howl and scratch 
until she opened the door. 

After the new neighbors came and I saw 
Higgles about, to tell the truth, I was 
ashamed to howl and call his attention to the 
humiliating way in which Nora treated me; 
so I stayed about in the yard a good share 
of the time. Higgles was inclined to be 
friendly. He had already made quite a col- 
lection of bones from about the neighbor- 
hood, and these he carefully brought to that 
part of his yard adjoining ours, and laid them 
down, looking at me with a friendly wag of 
his tail, which plainly said, Come on over.” 

I pretended at first not to see him, but 
it was awfully lonesome ; so pretty soon I 
slowly crawled under the fence to his side, 


166 


“bk'': ^utobiograpljg. 


and stood there, looking, no doubt, very ridic- 
ulous, with my tail perked up impertinently 
and my nose held haughtily in the air — 
for, as Higgles said to me afterward, if I 
didn’t wish to become acquainted, what did I 
come over for ? 

Higgles began to run about and caper 
clumsily, trying to get me to play. I stood 
aloof at first, but, finally, I could stand it no 
longer; so I ran after him and chased him 
about the yard until he awkwardly ran against 
me and knocked me over. Then I became 
quite insulted and made a great show of 
limping home on three legs. Higgles fol- 
lowed me with profuse apologies, and I saw 
that he was so penitent for what was no fault 
of his, but a mere accident, that I began to 
feel ashamed of myself and went back, and 
we played together for half an hour, and 
after that we were always firm friends. 

When Dolly came home she was glad to 
find that I had a new friend. She told John 


“bic"’: ^utobiograpljg. 


167 


that the romping would give me just the 
exercise that I needed, and said that she could 
see that Miggles was to be trusted. 

She used often to call him over the fence 
and talk to him kindly, and Miggles appre- 
ciated this, I can tell you, for his own people 
paid very little attention to him. They were 
kind enough, and they never ill-treated him, 
and they always fed him well ; but they did 
not act as if he belonged to them, or as though 
they cared for him at all. It was more as 
though they just let him stay about ; and 
Miggles said that it had been just so ever 
since he was a puppy. They never let 
him come into the house, and, if he even 
ventured upon the porches, they ran at him 
and cried : Be off, sir ! ” and it hurt his feel- 
ings dreadfully. 

And because nobody had seemed to care 
whether he was clean or dirty, he had grown 
careless about himself, and used to go about 
with burrs stuck to his tail and hind legs — he 


168 


“bic"’: ^l^utobioigrapljji. 


never noticed them unless they pricked him, 
he said. Then, too, his feet were quite apt 
to be muddy. I, myself, had been taught to 
be very tidy, and it distressed me to see him 
look so unkempt, so I spoke rather sharply to 
him about it. He took it very meekly and said 
that before he knew me he had never cared 
how he looked, but that he wished that he could 
present a better appearance on my account. 
Then he fell to cleaning himself up and to 
pulling the snarls and burrs out of his tail. 

He told me that he envied me for belong- 
ing to people who loved me, and that he 
would do anything for his master if he would 
only allow him ; but that during his whole life 
he had been misunderstood. And then he 
said that once, when his master’s new hat 
had blown off, he, Higgles, had run to fetch 
it ; but they all turned in and threw stones at 
him and called to him to drop it ; and since then 
he had felt perfectly discouraged about being 
of any use to his master. He began grum- 




169 


bling about his name then, which, he said, 
would answer very well for a kitten, but was 
absurd for a great creature like him. He 
told me how, once, he determined not to 
answer to it, and went and hid under the barn ; 
but he stayed there a whole day, and nobody 
ever called him at all. I tried to fancy what 
it would be like to stay all day hidden and 
to have no one call me or care what had 
become of me, and I was very sorry for poor 
Miggles. 

But Miggles was not always depressed like 
that. There were times when he was posi- 
tively running over with spirits, and at such 
times you would not believe that he had ever 
known a care. And it was in one of these 
joyous, happy moods that Miggles got me 
into serious trouble. 

You see it was house-cleaning time, and 
that meant a great deal to me. Miggles said 
that he wouldn’t mind if his family cleaned 
house every day, for he never stayed inside, 


170 


‘‘bic”: ^utobio9ra|jl)ji. 


anyhow. He said this with a patronizing air 
which aggravated me,- because I had often 
heard him complain bitterly because they 
would not let him in. But I paid no atten- 
tion to his manner then, for I was taken up 
with my own anxiety. 

Now, of course, no sensible dog is afraid 
of a wooden pail with a kalsomine brush in 
it. But when you unexpectedly come across 
one standing exactly where your cushion 
usually lies, you cannot help shying a little 
bit. And then when you encounter a tall 
step ladder in the accustomed place of the 
music rack, and you fall over the mop in 
trying to get out of the way of the painter, 
who, you can see, hates dogs, by that time, 
I say, you are in such a state of bewilder- 
ment that you simply cannot find the door 
to get out of the room. So you run con- 
fusedly around in a manner which, you realize 
yourself, looks suspicious. Then the woman 
who has come in to clean the wood-work, and 


“bic’’: ^utobiogra|3l)2. 


171 


who is sure to be a perfect idiot, climbs up on 
the step-ladder and calls out that you are going 
mad, and that you snapped at her as you ran 
by. The painter then throws a brush at you, 
and the woman screams and calls out that 
you are foaming at the mouth — as you 
doubtless are by then. At last you get out 
somehow — you never know how — and you 
feel that you never wish to go back into 
that room again. 

Then there are the bare floors ! It isn’t 
that you object to bare floors in themselves 
— it’s the coming across them where you do 
not expect them, and where you are used to 
treading on soft carpets and rugs. You can- 
not, for the life of you, help lifting your feet 
ridiculously high as you cross such a floor ; and, 
although you cannot tell what you fear, you 
would rather face anything than to go through 
an empty room. All that was the sort of thing 
that house-cleaning meant to me, for I remem- 
bered my experiences of former years. 


XVIII. 


TV Tow, there is something very funny about 
^ the way a man dresses to do odd jobs 
about a place. I mean a man who does not 
do such work for a living. He always attires 
himself so conspicuously. Why, I have seen 
John, in the coldest winter, when it has hap- 
pened that his man was away, and he has 
had to sift the ashes himself, go to his 
closet of discarded wearing-apparel and care- 
fully select a straw hat and linen duster, 
which he would don and wear, perfectly un- 
conscious of anything incongruous to the sea- 
son. Then, again, I have seen him wear a fur 
cap and thick coat in midsummer, when he 
was helping Dolly to weed her flower garden. 
So when, on this morning, which was very 
warm and sunny, I saw my master come 
down in a moth-eaten winter coat and with a 


172 


“bic”: ^utobiograpl)2. 173 

heavy felt hat set back on his head, I knew 
that there was to be a house-cleaning. 

As soon as breakfast was over, John began 
hauling the furniture about and upsetting 
things generally — “to get an early start,” 
Dolly said — and I, meanwhile, stole out and 
over to Higgles’ house and told him my 
grievances. It was then that he made the 
remark which I quoted before — that he 
didn’t care if his family cleaned house every 
day. Of course, it was easy enough for him 
to say that, but after he had dodged a few 
paint and scrubbing-brushes, he would have 
changed his mind, I was sure. 

Higgles tried to cheer me up a little by 
showing me a beautiful bone which he had 
kept buried just long enough to be nice and 
mellow, but somehow I had no appetite for 
bones, for I felt extremely low in my mind. 
Then he told me that he knew where there 
was a cat that we could have some fun with, 
but I said that my mistress had punished me 


174 


‘‘bic”: ^ntabiograpljp. 


for chasing cats, and I refused to go Hig- 
gles coaxed. He said that nobody would 
mind what we did to this cat, for she was 
a horrid cat and ate her own kittens, and 
that her mistress had said that she wished 
that somebody would kill her. (Somehow 
Higgles always knew all the news in the 
neighborhood.) 

I began to listen then, and he certainly 
gave the cat so scandalous a reputation that 
it almost seemed our duty to put it out of the 
way at once. '‘Come on,” said Higgles, “I 
know just where she is, and Fll give you the 
first chance at her.” 

So off we went. Higgles led me across 
an alley and into a neat back yard. “ There ! ” 
said he, triumphantly, "we have caught her 
napping.” And he nodded his head toward a 
large gray cat who lay sunning herself upon 
the steps of the barn. But when did a dog ever 
really catch a cat napping ? Never — unless 
the cat were old and blind, and this one was 


“llic”: ^utobiogra|jl)2. 


175 


neither. She showed fight, and the tussle 
was long and fierce. I will spare you the 
recital of so cruel a thing. I will only state 
that, by dint of Higgles’ encouraging me on, 
and not without many wounds to myself, I at 
last killed the cat. Then, as I stood in tri- 
umph over the body, proud to have rid the 
neighborl;^ood of so shameful a pest, Higgles 
suddenly looked very much concerned. “ Vic,” 
said he, ruefully, ''we’ve killed the wrong 
cat.” And then, with drooping ears and tails 
between our legs, we slunk home, silent and 
dejected. 

I did not dare to go into the house then, 
even if it were not for house-cleaning, for I 
knew that Dolly would see the blood and 
scratches, and know what I had been at. 
So I crept down in the cellar-way, where I 
lay until John, coming along with an armful 
of rugs, which he was carrying nowhere in 
particular, after the manner of men helping, 
stumbled over me and fell down the steps. 


176 


bic’’: ^utobiograpljg. 


By the time he had picked himself up, I 
had hidden behind the coal-bin, and he never 
knew why he had fallen. In time I dropped 
asleep in that dirty, uncomfortable place. I 
was awakened by a shrill voice outside the 
window. It was her that done it, sure. The 
little white one with black ears. I seen her 
do it.” I had no need to hear more. I knew 
what they were talking- about, and I did not 
come out. 

It was dark before they found me, and 
then it was quite by accident, for John was 
looking for the tack-hammer, and he wanted to 
make a thorough search, he said ; so he took 
a candle and went from attic to cellar. He did 
not find the hammer, but there in the cellar, 
crouched down behind the coal-bin, he found 
me — dirty, ashamed, sick and sore. Dolly 
had called me and had looked everywhere, 
and finally had given me up in despair. She 
took me, all dirty and disgraced as I was, 
into her arms. 


bic’’: ^ntobiogra|3l)j). 


177 


My poor, dear old Vic, it never was your 
fault at all. It was all that mean mongrel, 
Miggles. You never shall play with him 
again,” she said in one breath, as she hugged 
me delightedly. And I would ten times rather 
she had whipped me, for poor Miggles was 
no more at fault than I. 

Dolly was as good as her word. She 
would not let me out of the house if she saw 
Miggles in sight. I used to sit at the window 
and watch the poor fellow as he walked back 
and forth along the fence, looking wistfully 
toward our house, or sat patiently beside the 
broken fence where I used to crawl through, 
as if hoping to see me there again. I did 
not mind so much for myself, for I had Dolly, 
and I loved her far better than I could love 
a dog, but I knew how lonely it was for poor 
Miggles, whom nobody cared for, and who 
never had had a sympathetic friend except 
me. 

At last my mistress was touched by Mig- 


12 


178 


“bic”: ^tttobiogra|il)2. 


gles’ devotion. Going to the door, she spoke 
his name, and with one bound he was over 
the fence. He ran to her feet, lying down 
and fawning and whining piteously, and licking 
her hand when she stooped to stroke his head. 
Dolly called him to follow when she entered 
the house, but she could not coax him in, for 
he, poor dog, had been scolded too often for 
tracking up the porches. So he stood just 
beside the steps, and my mistress called me 
out. Oh, how tickled the great, awkward 
fellow was to see me ! He rolled and tum- 
bled about to show his delight, and he rubbed 
his nose against mine in a sort of caress. 
Dolly used to let me out to see him afterward 
sometimes, but she never quite trusted Hig- 
gles, and she kept watch of us, lest we do 
some mischief or other. 

It was soon after this that Higgles — poor 
yellow mongrel that he was — did a noble 
act which cost him his life. As his master 
was walking home one night, just as he 


“bic’’: ^ttt0bio0rapl)5. 


179 


neared his own gate, the cry of Mad dog ! ” 
rang out, and a huge, frenzied creature came 
tearing toward him, with froth dripping from 
his powerful jaws, which he snapped fiercely, 
right and left. Before the man was aware 
of his danger. Higgles had the dog by the 
throat, and, in spite of its fierce struggles, he 
held him fast until help came and the dog 
was shot. Higgles had been bitten in the 
combat, and it was demanded, for the public 
safety, that he be shot, too. 

My master said that he never saw a more 
touching sight than Higgles as he crawled to 
his master's feet and crouched there, looking 
imploringly in his face, as though entreating 
him for protection. Then, when his master 
could neither save him nor bear to stay and 
see him killed. Higgles followed his retreating 
form with his eyes until the shot rang out 
which pierced as faithful a heart as ever beat. 

And when Higgles was dead his master 
had him buried at the foot of the garden, and 


180 


bic'’: ^utobiogra|jt)g. 


he put over his grave a decent wooden slab 
with the dog’s name upon it. He took all 
his friends around to see it, and said words 
of praise for the poor fellow which, had they 
been said to him in his lifetime, would have 
changed his forlorn lot into that of the 
proudest dog in the world. 

And a queer thing happened soon after. 
Higgles’ master had had some trouble with his 
coachman, and he dismissed the man in anger. 
The next day there appeared below the dog’s 
name, painted in uneven letters, an inscrip- 
tion which was meant not so much to honor 
Higgles as to show contempt for his master, 
for it intimated that the dog was the better 
man of the two. Strange to say, his master 
never had it painted out. He sold the place 
not long after, and moved away, and the 
house has changed hands twice since then. I 
doubt if the present owner has ever seen the 
grave, which is now all grown over with vines 


“ bic !3ln ^tttobiograijljg- 


181 


and bushes, so that the head-board is quite 
hidden, except to one familiar with the place. 

It is still there, however, for I saw it to- 
day. I had to scratch away the hop-vines 
before I could make out all the lettering, but it 
is plain enough when you have once found it: 

HIGGLES. 

HE WAS MORE OF A MAN THAN HIS MASTER. 




XIX. 


IFE has run along very comfortably and 



^ happily for us all since then, but I de- 
clare it makes me feel old when I think of 
Miggles and how long ago that all was. 

Of course, nine years is not a remarkably 
great age for a dog, but it is about all that 
we can reasonably expect, and a good deal 
more than we can be sure of. 

I am certainly getting stiff at the knees, 
and I do not take so kindly to exercise as I 
used to, and Dolly tells me that I am too 
lazy and fat for any use. It is true that I do 
stick pretty close to the grate-fire now, but 
it is winter, and I believe that I must feel the 
cold more than I ever did before. When 
Dolly goes out I usually follow, for, somehow, 
I cannot bear to lose sight of her ; but I get 


^ntobiogra|j|)5. i83 

quite wheezy and out of breath when I run 
far. 

The other day John pulled out one of my 
teeth because it had become so loose. Dolly 
watched him, and she winced as though it had 
hurt her, although I scarcely felt it at all. 
John laughed at her, and then she said that 
it wasn’t so much because she thought that it 
would hurt me, but that she could not help 
remembering when that tooth had come 
through, and how interested she had been 
in watching for it. 

And then she put her arms about his neck 
and said : '‘You were my old Cheap John 
then, you know, and nothing ever touches 
me like the memory of those dear old shabby 
times when we never had enough chairs 
in the dining-room, and your clothes were 
always shiny at the seams.” 

I think that my master was moved by the 
remembrance, too, for his eyes looked sus- 
piciously bright as he drew Dolly down on 


184 


‘‘bic”: ^iitobi 03 rapl) 5 . 


his knee and kissed her. Dolly reached 
her hand out for me. “Vic, too, dear, for 
she was part of it all,” she said, softly. 
Then master lifted me up and set me on 
his other knee, and he folded his arms close 
about us both, as he answered : “Yes, Dolly — 
Vic, too.’^ 















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